


Taken

by confusedrambler



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Ed!Torture fic with actual plot; A hurt-comfort story that explores the underbelly of Central. No Yaoi/Yuri. No inappropriate language. Rating changed to 'M' as of Chapter 6 "Turn" for violence and mature situations. Brotherhood/Manga-verse set somewhere between the move to Central and Ross' 'death.' Hughes *is* dead in this fic.<br/>Expect chapters of all sizes and screen time for minor characters. <br/>Originally posted on FF. This story was my first ever fan-fic. I hope you'll let me know how I did. Thanks!<br/>Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise

White flakes of snow danced outside the home of a certain alchemist and his cat-loving younger brother. The windows were frozen shut and frost crept across the panes of glass, obscuring the chaotic scene within from the few pedestrians foolish enough to be outside. With every passing moment the door to the apartment seemed to swell, as if struggling to hold back a flood. And it was. It was struggling to hold back the sound of yet another Elric tantrum.

Though it had been sound-proofed through alchemy long ago by its volatile residents, it seemed as though the door would simply shatter from the forced effort of holding back a steadily growing tempest of angry words and violent emotions. Groaning wood gave way suddenly as an angry steel foot kicked down the door, ending its years of silent suffering as the barrier between the rest of Amestris and the volatile lives of the Elric boys.

A fuming figure stalked angrily out of the now empty doorway, ignoring the indignant screams behind him as he left Alphonse to clean up his mess. Dressed in a bright crimson jacket that contrasted sharply with his white surroundings, the moody teenager marched off into the near empty streets of Central. Without breaking his stride, the petite male shoved his flesh hand into the pocket of his vibrant jacket and withdrew two white gloves. Quickly slipping them onto his hands and jerking his fur-trimmed hood over conspicuous golden hair, the blond stopped at the split in the road before choosing the street to his left that led to Central Command and the Bastard Colonel.

"Might as well let that bastard know Al and I are back from Resembool. Besides, now I can get back at that jerk for filling our apartment with all those stupid cats!" His gold eyes glinted with malicious intent as his mouth slid into an anticipating grin. "This is all his fault! That idiot knows I can't let Al have a cat! It's not like we can drag something like that all over the country. It's all his fault that Alphonse is so pissed. I can't help if it's snowing outside! Besides, it's not like the little bastards'll freeze! They've got fur for crying out loud!"

Busily ranting and planning his revenge for the Bastard Colonel, Ed didn't notice when a pale figure walked out of an alley and began following him. He also didn't notice the mysterious person speed up until they were just behind the preoccupied alchemist. He didn't notice the white cloth with a cloyingly sweet smell in their hand. But he did notice the menacing shadow that suddenly covered his own.

"Who the-?" was all the surprised teenager managed to say before he was tackled from behind, the cloth roughly shoved over his mouth. He struggled violently for all of thirty seconds while his masked adversary waited for the drug to take effect. When the unlucky blond finally lost his grip on consciousness, the figure in white let the cloth fall to the snow-covered ground and began dragging their victim to the shadow of a nearby alley.

In the relative darkness of that convenient alley, the masked form crouched over the unconscious form of Edward Elric and calmly began stripping him of all identifying possessions. His warm red coat was roughly pulled off his arms and hurled into one of the dumpsters lining the walls of the alley, leaving him to shiver on the snow covered ground. Next to go was the silver pocket watch clipped to his belt. The masked figure turned it over in its hands for a few moments before resigning it to the trash heap as well. Resuming its methodical work, it searched the limp teen's pockets for anything else that could be used to identify him. Finding nothing, the figure quickly shed its long, bulky white coat, revealing a form-fitting trench coat. Now revealed to be a definite female, the woman pulled the young male into a sitting position and shoved his arms through the white coat before letting him slump against the wall behind him.

She observed him calmly for a moment, carefully going over his body to search for any other identifying characteristics. When her eyes reached his face, she cursed softly and shifted the boy so she could reach one of the many pockets of the white coat. After shoving him over so she could reach farther into the deep pocket, a tinted glass bottle was finally freed from its cloth prison.

The still masked woman flipped Edward over onto his stomach and tugged his hair free of trademark braid. Quickly finger-combing through the silky, golden hair, she arranged it so it covered his shoulders in an even, straight line. She set the dark colored bottle onto the cold ground and revealed another white cloth. She opened the container and soaked the rag in the sharp smelling chemical before pouring the rest of the contents over the boy's hair. She worked the chemical further into his hair, making certain every strand was covered with bleach before maneuvering him into a sitting position again. She twisted his head from side to side and tapping his face lightly for good measure. Convinced that he was still firmly in the hold of the chloroform, she scooped up the empty bottle and chemically-soaked cloth and stalked over to the same dumpster that held the unfortunate male's coat.

She dropped the evidence into the trash bin, whipping her head around when the crack of broken glass reached her ears. When she was sure no one was coming to investigate the sound, she pulled off her white gloves. Tossing them carelessly into the dumpster, she let out a sigh of pleasure and flexed her naked hands in the sudden cold before finally pulling off and discarding her mask.

She was a brown-eyed beauty with light brown hair that swung at her shoulders, almost as if irritated with being stuffed into the prison of her full-face mask. She stalked over to the small form leaning against the alley wall. The snow melting in his hair had already washed out most of the bleach soaked in his hair, but it had done its work. No one would recognize the boy before her as the Fullmetal Alchemist. He was all hers.


	2. Perception

Sergeant Denny Brosh was slogging his way home after another hectic day at Central Headquarters. It was near the end of the year, so everyone was absolutely swamped with paperwork. It didn't help that the frequent snow and ice made it almost impossible for everyone to get to work on time-or get there at all, really. He sighed tiredly before perking up slightly at the thought that at least he'd been able to see his beautiful partner Maria. _Anything_ was worth seeing Maria.

"Excuse me. Sir, excuse me! I've got a bit of a problem. Could you help me out?"

He turned, surprised at the sudden interruption in his daily routine, and spotted a slightly frantic brunette walking quickly towards him, waving her hands around, making certain that she had his attention. He started when he really looked at the woman. She was probably in her early thirties, and she was an absolute beauty. _But not as beautiful as my darling Maria,_ he thought loyally. Her lustrous hair swung around her shoulders, and her slightly pointed face was wearing an expression of worried concern. Her brown eyes were bright and it looked as if she were close to bursting into tears. Her shapely form reminded him again of Maria as she walked quickly, but carefully towards him.

"What's the problem Miss? Something wrong?"

"I'm so glad you came by when you did, sir. My son and I were just taking a shortcut home when he fell and hit his head. I tried to pick him up, but he..he's just too heavy for someone like me. Can you help me get him home? Please? I don't know how much longer he can last out here…he's so cold…And I can't just leave him there! Please. You're my only hope." By the time she reached the end of her plea, tears were snaking their way down her pinched face, and Denny was one seriously flustered guy. He hated it when beautiful women cried. Especially beautiful women that reminded him of his lovely Maria.

"O-Of course I'll help! Um. Don't…don't cry. Don't worry, I'll have him up in a jiffy. And then we'll take him to the hospital, so…so don't cry, okay? Just tell me where he is, alright? Can you take me to him?" The woman looked slightly panicked when he mentioned the hospital, but she spun around and strode towards a nearby alley.

"He's right over here. But…he _hates_ hospitals. It's probably better just to take him home. Yes…I think that's best for my little Edison. There he is. My poor little Eddie…"

The boy in question was slumped awkwardly against the alley wall. His large white coat was bunched around his waist and revealed a small, lithe frame. Half-melted snow dusted his blond hair and was caked onto his tight black pants and matching boots. Denny bent over and checked the limp, pale form for injuries before gently scooping him up in his arms. Denny staggered a bit when he stood up with the kid.

_Jeez, how can such a little kid weigh so much? It's like he's made of metal or something!_

"Okay, I think I've got him. I didn't see any bumps on his head, so he'll probably come round in about an hour. So, uh…you're sure you don't want to get him checked out first? No? Um. Alright then…I guess I'll just take him to your place. How far away do you guys live?"

The woman had finally stopped crying by this time. In fact, she almost seemed _too_ calm.

"We're just on the other side of the train station, but if you can just carry him into one of the shops, we'll be fine. I just need to call my husband and tell him where to pick us up."

"Hm? Well, if a phone's all ya need, why don't I just take you over to my place? I'm just down the street and I'm sure it'll be more comfortable for you both than some old store. Come on, just follow me."

Denny lurched toward his house, ignoring the lady's faint protests and objections. It was a good thing his house was so close. He didn't think he could carry this kid for longer than five minutes without a break- and he wasn't exactly a slacker when it came to weight lifting.

_That's it-_ _I'm definitely stepping up the weight training. If I'm having so much trouble with a shrimp like this, there's no way I could carry my lovely Maria. And if I can't carry my darling across the threshold, our marriage will be miserable and I'll never get to see all the cute little Marias we could bring into the world together!_

Denny's thoughts preoccupied his mind the rest of the short journey to his front door. And then he realized he had a problem. His arms were full of unconscious kid, his door was locked, his keys were in his back pocket, and the only way to get them would be to dump the kid on the ground. That, or ask the lady to reach into his back pocket and unlock the door for him. Crap. If Maria ever found out about this, he was _dead_.

"Ehe heh. Umm. Sorry bout this, but d'you think you could get my keys out of my back pocket for me? I don't wanna drop the kid, and the door's locked." She looked a bit surprised before giving him a mischievous grin that lit up her eyes.

_Just like Maria's. Crap. I'm gonna_ die _if she finds out about this! And she_ always _finds out. I'm so_ screwed _!_

"Are you sure this isn't just an excuse to get me…" She'd taken a step with every word and by now, Denny could feel her warm, moist breath on the back of his neck. She emphasized her next words by roughly shoving her hands into his back pocket, making him squeak and nearly drop the kid. " _Close_ to you?" Denny blushed furiously and opened his mouth to deny that the thought had ever crossed his mind, only to squeak again at the thought of _Maria_ getting his keys from his back pocket. The pretty brunette only laughed as she pulled her hands (and the keys) out of his pockets and nudged the crimson faced sergeant out of her way.

Door finally unlocked, an extremely embarrassed Denny Brosh practically fell into his home, eager to be away from the woman that reminded him so much of his darling Maria. He placed the blond boy on the couch just across the room and busily rearranged him into a more comfortable position, directing his female guest to the phone down the hallway.

Now that he had the time to look more closely at the boy, Denny realized there was something hauntingly familiar about him. Maybe it was the darker color of his eyebrows, or the stubborn set of his mouth, but the kid reminded him of someone. Who was it? It certainly wasn't Maria. No male- no matter how pretty- could remind him of Maria. Especially not a blond runt like this. He looked nothing like her!

Having successfully distracted himself from his original purpose, Denny moved towards the hallway in time to hear the mysterious brunette finishing up her conversation.

"Yes, I'm sure. I know. Of course, you idiot. Just shut up already! I have everything under control. Look, just hurry up and come get us. Don't call him that! ...Fine. I'll see you then." _Click_.

_That was weird. I've never heard anyone talking to their husband that way. Wonder what he did to make her so upset. Huh. Well, at least she got him on the phone._

"So, I guess your husband's on his way? How long do ya think it'll be before he gets here? You gave him the address, right?" The woman jumped at the sound of his voice and whipped her head around, looking for the source of the words. She spotted him near the entrance of the hallway and giggled in embarrassment. She nodded to answer his question and swept past him into the living room where she sat next to her son.

"He had to work today, but his office is pretty close. It won't be long."

She turned to her son with a smile, caressing his face while cooing to him. It was almost creepy how close she got.

_Definitely one of those over-protective chicks. I wouldn't wanna be_ that _kid when he finally hits puberty. Jeez, that'd be a nightmare! She probably won't give the little guy_ any _privacy. Especially not with the ladies! I bet she'll keep calling him Eddie, too…glad she's not_ my _mother!_

After a few more minutes of musing to himself and generally feeling awkward in his own living room, Denny heard the unmistakable sound of a gas motor and tires crunching carefully through the snow. He walked over to the front door and opened it in time to see a tall, muscular man with bleach blond hair getting out of his car. Denny closed the door behind him and waved the powerful man over with a broad grin.

_Man, this guy has to be related to Armstrong! There's no way that two big guys- two_ blond _guys like that could be in the same city and not be related!_

"Hey. I'm Sergeant Denny Brosh. You must be Mr…uh Mrs…Um. Edison's father. He and his mother are inside, but he's still out cold. So, uh…I guess you'll want to see them now. Um…come on in. By the way, I didn't catch your name?"

"The name's Jim. Jim Curtis. So, the runt's inside?" The big man's voice was much higher than Denny expected. It was all he could do to keep from laughing outright at the man.

_Maybe he's not related to Armstrong after all. I can't imagine anyone in his family sounding like that! Heck, even his sister's got a pretty deep voice! Not to mention Olivier would probably disown anyone who *did* sound like that. ...Wait a minute. Did he just call his son a runt? What kinda father calls his kid a runt in front of a perfect stranger? Whatever, it's none of my business. But jeez, these people just keep getting weirder and weirder!_

Denny nodded an affirmative and opened the door for the strange man, lost in thought for what had to be the fiftieth time that day. Jim marched into the room and glanced around before spotting his wife and son on the couch together. Denny came out of the fog in his mind in time to see the giant separate his child from his wife's stranglehold and throw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"It's time to go, _darling,"_ he sneered.

"Of course, _dear_ ," she snarled.

The couple stalked out the doorway, limp kid over shoulder and slammed the door shut on a very confused Denny Brosh. By the time it occurred to him to see them off the street, car, couple, and boy were gone.


	3. Professional Playmates

Jim drove through the streets as fast as he possibly could without making the car spin-out on the snow. This job was more trouble than it was worth. It hadn't gone at all as planned. Crazy wench had asked some guy from the frickin military to help her out with the runt. Sure, they'd gotten away alright, but you had to be insane to ask a military officer to help you pull off a kidnapping. To make it worse, it looked like she'd slipped up a few times.

_He was looking pretty deep in thought near the end there. He probably noticed that the pipsqueak doesn't look like either of us. Well, it's not like he'll be able to find us later._

"Hey, meathead. I didn't pay you to think. I paid you to get us to the warehouse by the train station. So wipe that stupid look off your face and keep your eyes on the road. It's getting dark and I don't want your idiocy to ruin everything."

"I don't care _what_ you think you paid me for. You didn't pay me enough for this crap. This is gonna cost you _big_ , wench. You never said anything about the military being involved! You're lucky I came at all. You said I only had to pick you and the twerp up at the store down the street. I waited on you and your little toy for an entire hour before you finally decided to let me in on the real plan." Jim snarled. Or tried to snarl. He actually sounded a lot more like an angry mouse than the bear he was trying to be.

"Yeah, whatever moron. Quit complaining. You'll get your money, and it's none of your business if things didn't go like I wanted. You're just lucky I didn't have to kill the idiot and stash the body. He nearly took us to the hospital, and they'd have ID'd my baby right off. I may be able to change his looks, but nothing can change blood. Besides, it's not like he noticed anything was wrong. Until you came in, that is. What were you thinking, treating my Eddie like that? You're supposed to be his father, not his warden!"

"Shut up, whore. Like you said, you paid me for transport, not acting. You're the one that changed the plan at the last minute. And you better believe _that's_ gonna cost you as well."

"Forget it. Just stop the car, tiny. This is it. Come help me get Eddie out of the backseat. Did you bring the drugs?"

"I'm a professional, wench. Of course I brought the drugs." Jim pulled a glass bottle and a rag out of the glove box and handed them out to the seething woman. Snatching the drugs and cloth from the man, she prepared to dose the boy with another round.

"Hey, tramp. Hurry up. He's starting to come round."

"Shut up, idiot. I know. It's already been two hours. I'll just have to give him a stronger dose this time. Make sure he's out long enough to _arrange_ things." The shapely brunette crawled into the backseat with the stirring teenager and pressed the dripping cloth over his mouth and nose again. The young blond flinched at the sudden feel of wet fabric and let out a little growl of frustration and confusion before drifting back into peaceful oblivion. She took a string and tied the rag around his neck, close enough that the fumes would reach the boy's nose, but wouldn't send him into a sleep that he would never wake from.

Noticing that she was done, Jim pushed her out of the way and hauled the little freak out of the backseat, tossing him onto the icy ground. Ignoring her protests, he kicked the body further away from the car and slung himself into the driver's seat. He slammed the door and started the car, flashing a rude hand sign and calling out the window as he drove away.

"See ya, wench. I'm outta here. I did my job. Good luck getting the runt inside before dawn!"

* * *

"Finally. I thought that brute would _never_ leave. Now it's just _you_ and _me_ , Eddie-boy. Don't worry honey…I'll take _good_ care of you." Crooning to the unconscious boy in between snatches of soft singing, she opened the large door to the storage facility and stood back to survey the cavernous room before her. Boxes and crates lined the walls haphazardly while unclaimed baggage rose up in enormous heaps that obscured her view, creating an exquisite maze. The brunette waltzed into the room, giggling at her good fortune. She skipped over to one of the broken crates and peeked inside to see a collection of knives any butcher would be proud to own. Pursing her lips and reaching out to finger a blade, she froze just before she could touch it, confusion flickering across her face. She withdrew with a rueful smile, shaking her head and dancing over to one of the enormous piles of baggage instead.

"Ooh! _This_ is more like it, isn't it Eddie? Look at all this _lovely_ equipment! Oh, we're going to have so much _fun_ together Eddie! I can see us now, trying out all these lovely _toys_. Ooh, I'm getting chills just _thinking_ about it! But that'll have to wait, now won't it Eddie? I've got to get you _comfortable_ , before we can play together. But don't worry. We'll have _forever_ to play with each other. I promise."

She spun around, tan coat whipping around her legs and strode outside. She stopped in front of the boy, noticing how the snow glowed with borrowed light from the full moon and stars above. It threw soft shadows across the boy's still form and she sighed with longing when she noticed the way the cold ground had flushed his face. She caressed his face and kissed his forehead gently before shaking herself out of her reverie and grabbing her treasure underneath his arms.

She dragged him through the snow and into the warehouse behind them. There, she dropped him onto the hard concrete floor and shut the door behind them. She searched her large pocket for a while before brightening and taking out a lighter. She flipped it open and searched the surrounding walls for the light switch she knew had to be there. She found it a few minutes later and flicked it on, glad that there were no windows to give away their presence. Shutting the lighter with a twitch of her fingers, she flounced off to finish exploring her new playground.

A wide grin flew across her face when she found a long coil of rope thrown in the corner with some camping equipment.

_Oh, ye~s. This place is just *perfect* for us, Eddie. Everything we could ever need, right here at our fingertips!_

She picked up the rope and slung it over her shoulder, continuing her exploratory journey.

She finally found the object of her search in the form of a rickety flight of stairs in the corner. They didn't look like they would hold much more than a couple hundred pounds, so she doubted they were in use anymore.

_Perfect. It's like they were just waiting for my Eddie and I._

She climbed them gingerly and, satisfied that they would hold her weight, ran back down to fetch her beautiful boy.

After a bit of struggle, she managed to drag her toy back to the staircase, where she stopped to catch her breath. She considered the blond's limp form and the rather narrow staircase. Her brow furrowed cutely before her eyes brightened and she slung the coil of rope off her shoulder.

"I _was_ planning to make you comfortable _after_ we got upstairs, honey. But I can't have you falling down the stairs, can I? Just keep sleeping Eddie, I've got it _all_ under control. You don't need to worry about a _thing_."

The pretty brunette pulled him up to slump against a nearby crate, head snapping back at the sudden change of direction and smacking the wood planks with a painful sounding _thunk_. The brunette pouted and seized his bangs, yanking his head forward again before letting it slam back against the crate with yet another painful _thud_.

"You need to be more careful, Eddie. We can't have you bleeding down _here_. Somebody might get suspicious. I know it's hard to wait, but I _told_ you that we can't play right now. Just wait until tomorrow. Then we can have all the fun you want. Doesn't that sound nice?"

The woman stood up and looked at the rope before she seemed to remember something. With another glance towards her Eddie, she ran back through the maze of boxes and piles to a crate near the door. She examined its contents hesitantly. Not daring to spend too much time thinking about it, she deliberately reached for the smallest knife she could see, smiling when her fingers wrapped around the handle without the slightest hesitation. Tool in hand, she returned to her captive and the coil of rope.

She efficiently sawed off several different lengths of rope and moved back over to the blond. She clasped his hands together and ran the rope around his wrists before forming a small loop and forcing each of his middle fingers through, preventing him from separating his hands far enough to perform that horrible alchemy. Where had he even learned such a despicable thing? No matter. He wouldn't be using it here.

Next to be bound were his ankles and knees. She left a tiny bit of give in those so he would have fun trying to get out of her lovely rope game before he finally gave up. She'd improved so much since the last time they'd played, after all. Stepping back to consider her work and all the extra rope she had left, she decided to show off her skills further. She ran the rest of the rope around the upper part of his arms and crossed it over his chest a few times.

_There. That should be enough, even for him. He'll be *dying* to play with me when I come back tomorrow. But for now, I should get Eddie-boy upstairs._

She almost managed to stuff the small knife through her belt before her hand started trembling. With a frustrated huff, she flung it into one of the nearby crates and seized the short lead at the rope's end. Grasping it firmly in her hands, she turned and trudged her way up the stairs, dragging her Eddie behind her. After several minutes of maneuvering, tugging, swearing and ominous creaking, the limp body was pulled onto the floor above, looking a bit the worse for wear. The woman dropped the rope and leaned over, hands on knees as she struggled to regain her breath.

"Hey…Eddie." She gasped. "We're gonna… have to do something…about all that extra… weight… I think I'm…gonna put you on…a diet!"

When her breathing evened out, the curvy female surveyed the room, looking for a good place to hide her treasure before she left for the night. She settled on dragging him behind a wall of boxes near the back left corner of the room. Looking over her captive one last time she noticed his beautiful face and couldn't resist leaning down and caressing him one last time.

"It's such a _shame_ , but we're gonna have to do something about that pretty mouth of yours, Eddie. Can't have you telling anyone about our games before they even get started, after all. That would be cheating. Mmm… _such_ a shame. I _really_ don't want to cover it up, but I think I'll have to…just this once."

She straightened up and walked over to one of the discarded bags in the room. Dumping it out behind one of the many boxes in the room, she pawed through its contents until she found a pair of rather long black socks. She crumpled one of the socks into a ball and yanked open her playmate's mouth before roughly shoving it in. She ripped the other sock apart lengthwise and wrapped it across his mouth, knotting it behind his head to keep him from spitting the gag out when he awoke. Sweeping bangs back from his angelic face, she gazed hungrily at him before sighing and straightening up once again.

To make absolutely certain that no one would interrupt her honey's rest- as unlikely as that was- she pushed a few of the lighter boxes and bags between the gap of the wall and the crates in front of it. Backing away, she smiled at her clever work before trotting down the stairs and over to the light switch just beside the door. She flipped it off and ghosted out the warehouse door. Her smile lit up her face and her brown eyes glowed with intensity as she waltzed down the street, thoughts about tomorrow swirling in her head.

"Tomorrow…such a lovely word, isn't it Eddie? Almost as beautiful as forever…and we'll have them both. _Together_ …tomorrow…forever…and _always_. We'll play such _beautiful_ games together. We'll make the most wonderful sounds in the world…and no one else will hear our _screams_ of delight. Because we'll be alone. Together. Tomorrow. Forever. _Always_."


	4. Dropping Eaves.

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was in serious need of a smoke break. Ever since the move to Central, Hawkeye had really started enforcing that "no smoking indoors" policy the Fuehrer had passed a few weeks back.

_Making a good impression- as if! She's just tired of the office smelling like an ashtray. I don't see what the big deal is, it's just smoke. Not that you'll catch me complaining about it. Hawkeye's scary when she's angry and she's practically psychic. I don't get it. It's like she's got a built-in alarm that goes off whenever anyone even *thinks* of breaking one of her rules. Every time I try to sneak a quick smoke, she's right there with that *glare* of hers. How could such a pretty lady be so cruel! And then she has the nerve to walk off like nothing ever happened! … I'll never understand women._

Jean rocked back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, lazily contemplating the ceiling. He could deal with not smoking in the office, but _why_ did he have to take his smoke breaks _outside_? Why couldn't he just have one in the hall? It was _December_! It kinda defeated the purpose of a cigarette if you were all tensed up from the cold. But he did have to admit that it made his smoking habits stand out that much more for any pretty ladies that might be watching.

_After all, there aren't many ladies who can resist a handsome guy like me doing something as cool as smoking._

Jean sighed as he pushed his chair back. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes waiting on his desk and stood up, stretching slowly before ambling over to Lieutenant Hawkeye's desk. He opened his mouth only to be silenced by the brisk, business-like tone of one Riza Hawkeye.

"Taking your smoke break already, Second Lieutenant? That's fine, but don't take too long. And Havoc? I expect your paperwork complete, orderly, and in the appropriate pile on my desk by noon today. We'll be leaving early due to the blizzard we're expecting late this afternoon."

"Yes Ma'am. Of course, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." He saluted smartly before turning on his heel and walking out the door at a quick pace. He hated to rush something as special as his smoke break, but if he was going to get all his paperwork done by noon, he needed to speed things up a bit. He turned onto the last hallway that separated him from the front entrance of the building and his anticipated nic stick when he happened upon a sight that awoke his inner gossip. Something that, admittedly, wasn't very hard to do.

_Denny? And...Sciezka? Alone in the records room? Oh, this could be good…I always thought he had the hots for Maria! *That little sneak!* I wonder if I can get close enough to hear what they're saying…Who am I kidding? A little eavesdropping won't even be a challenge._

Jean stopped in the middle of the hallway before looking around lazily. He sauntered over to lean against the wall outside the records room, just out of the strange couple's line of sight. He pulled an obviously well-used lighter out of his pocket and flicked it open and shut with a bored look on his face, expertly hiding the fact that he was listening intently to the conversation taking place just a few feet away from him.

He realized rather quickly that the soft conversation wasn't about anything remotely romantic- like where their next secret meeting would be, for example- but the longer he listened, the more his curiosity was piqued. It seemed Brosh was telling Sciezka about his chance encounter with a crazy woman, her unconscious kid, and a large mysterious man that claimed to be her husband and just so happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to Major Armstrong. He had just finished telling of their abrupt disappearance and begun describing a strange feeling he'd had about the kid.

"It's the weirdest thing. I could swear that I've seen him before. There was just something about that Edison kid that screamed 'You know me,' but I can't put my finger on it. But when I looked at his parents, nothing rang any bells. It was like I'd just met them for the first time. And, now that I really think about it, he didn't look much like either of them. Or look like them at all, really. Too shrimpy to be related to that mammoth and too pale compared to his ma. I dunno, maybe I'm just over-thinking things."

"Maybe they adopted him. That would explain his looks and their reactions. I've read that women who adopt can be very clingy, and the adoption process can really strain a couple's relationship. That's probably all it was."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Just… _please_ don't tell Ross about all this. She'll _kill_ me if she finds out I let a strange woman into my house."

Jean smirked and kicked himself gently off the wall, flicking his lighter shut and wandering down the hall towards the front entrance _._

_Well, not as juicy as I'd hoped, but not a total loss either. All I've got to do is get Breda, Falman, and Fuery to bet on the next time Ross'll kick Brosh into the middle of next week. Then I let slip to Ross about Brosh's little encounter with a certain brunette, and bam. Easy money._

Jean gave the wooden door in front of him a hard push and walked out into the frigid December air. He eagerly took out a cigarette and lit it before dropping the battered lighter back into his pocket. He shivered and took a long drag before blowing the smoke slowly out of his nose and mouth. He was torn between hurrying through his smoke break to make up for the time he spent listening in on Brosh and Sciezka or taking the time to fully appreciate and feel the welcome release of nicotine. The choice was made for him when he saw the hulking, shimmering body of the younger Elric brother heading his way.

Havoc took a few more puffs from his cigarette while he waited for the suit of armor at the top of the steps in front of Central. When Al reached the bottom of the stairs, he threw the rest of his cigarette down and ground it into the snow.

"Yo, Al! You boys finally back in Central, or did Chief just stop by for more cash? Hey, speaking of Ed…where is he?"

The climbing suit of armor looked up, warm eyes managing to give off concern and anxious worry in waves. His young voice, always startlingly at odds with his fierce appearance, was soft and sad as he began to answer the easy-going chain smoker's questions.

"Good morning, sir. Brother and I _were_ planning on staying in Central for a while, but... When we got to our apartment we had a little... argument. Someone was keeping a bunch of stray cats in our rooms. Brother wanted to kick them out, but it was snowing and I didn't want any of them to get sick… Brother just took off somewhere. I didn't follow him because I thought he'd come back after blowing off some steam, but he never did. I was hoping that maybe Colonel Mustang knew where he was…"

The mismatched pair had continued walking towards the colonel's office while Alphonse told his story. They were now standing just outside of the outer office where the rest of Mustang's team was working feverishly, occasionally sneaking peeks at an irritated Hawkeye before redoubling their efforts.

"I haven't seen him, but I'm sure Colonel Mustang knows what's going on. Why don't we go see if he can tell us anything about Ed."

Jean opened the door and walked into the office to be greeted by a cold glare and a carefully emotionless voice.

"Second Lieutenant Havoc. You're late. So glad you decided to join us after all."

Jean flinched and backpedaled, flailing his free arm behind him as he saluted the furious Lieutenant. Finding the large metal arm he was searching for, Jean- with strength born of desperation and refusal to die a virgin- pulled Alphonse into the room behind him.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, Ma'am! I ran into Alphonse outside and we started talking. Turns out he needs to talk to Colonel Mustang about Major Elric, Ma'am. Is the colonel available, Lieutenant Ma'am?"

Still frozen in a salute, Jean hoped with everything he had that the younger Elric wouldn't let on to just how brief their talk had been.

_If he plays along, I might actually make it out of this alive._

Hawkeye was still carefully schooling her voice and expression, which wasn't a very good sign for Jean, but her gaze shifted onto the suddenly very nervous suit of armor. When she saw his discomfort, her gaze softened slightly and she agreed to let the colonel know he had a visitor. Shooting another piercing glance at Jean to let him know she wasn't finished with him yet, she entered the inner office and shut the door behind her. The entire outer office let out a sigh of relief, and Breda straightened in his chair, massaging his aching hand.

"Jeez, Jean. Why'd you have to go and disappear like that? Hawkeye's been breathing down our necks for the last 20 minutes because of you! You're lucky I'm even talking to you right now."

"Shut up, Heymans. It's not like you're the one she's pissed at. And besides, who says I even want to talk to you? Knock it off before I sic Hayate on ya." Breda shivered.

"Don't even joke about that! Besides, Hawkeye'd never let you near him. You'd just land yourself in deeper trouble."

Jean snorted in annoyance, snapping back to attention as the door to the inner office opened.

"Havoc, Alphonse, the colonel will see you now."

She stepped back to allow the two access to the room and shut the door behind them. The colonel was sitting with hands clasped, hiding his mouth, with a frostily aloof air about him.

"Alphonse. You wanted to discuss something with me about Fullmetal?"

Al nodded and began nervously telling the colonel about the previous day's events. As he listened to the story again, Jean felt a sense of foreboding creep over him.

_Something isn't adding up here. Edward would never stay away overnight without telling Al. This doesn't look good. Wait…this couldn't have anything to do with Brosh's mystery kid… Could it?_

Alphonse finished telling his story and lapsed into a worried silence, waiting for the colonel to say something- _anything_ -that would help him find his brother.

"This isn't right. Judging by your story, he was probably headed to my office. Unfortunately, I wasn't aware you boys were back in town until Lieutenant Hawkeye told me you were here to see me. And then there's the question of who put those cats in your apartment. I must admit, it's ingenious, but I can't claim responsibility for it. What's more troubling is that whoever's behind all this had access to your apartment, and knew exactly how you would both react. I don't like this. Hawkeye, Havoc, do you have anything to add?"

Colonel Mustang's brow was furrowed, his mouth twisted downwards in a thoughtful frown. Hawkeye shook her head and dove back into her thoughts, turning the story over in her mind for anything the colonel had missed. Jean stepped forward with a grim look on his face.

"Colonel Mustang, sir. Earlier I heard Sergeant Brosh and Sciezka from the records department discussing the Sergeant's encounter with an odd couple and a strangely familiar boy. From what I understand, the woman claimed the boy was her son and that he'd knocked himself out by falling on the ice. I'm not sure if the incident has anything to do with Major Elric's disappearance, but it sounds a bit too coincidental for my taste. You should probably consider talking to Sergeant Brosh to get the full story. Sir."

The colonel's eyes snapped and he nodded an affirmative to Hawkeye. She saluted and swept out of the office.

"Thank you for your input, Second Lieutenant Havoc. I'll put that information to good use. Now, before you leave- I've been informed by Lieutenant Hawkeye that you've been taking unnecessarily long cigarette breaks. She requested that I take away your smoking privileges for a week. Due to your recent exemplary performance, I think I'll deny that request. But she'll be watching you much closer now- so _don't_ let it happen again. Dismissed."

Jean saluted, weak with relief, and left the office with Alphonse to fill in the others and await the results of Sergeant Brosh's interrogation. He looked at the ceiling and sighed.

_I know you'd probably hate it if you knew how worried we are right now, but it's your own fault. You've really grown on us all, kid. Wherever you are, don't you_ dare _die on us. Not today. Stick around a little bit longer. And blow something up while you're at. It'll help us find you quicker… but please, kid…just stay alive.  
_


	5. Revelations

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was not happy. She'd been hoping to pick Black Hayate up from the kennels and take a nice relaxing walk before going home. She'd been hoping to spend her night watching the snow fall outside her window while cleaning her extensive collection of handguns and sipping at a warm mug of coffee. That plan had been shot to pieces when Alphonse had come in with the news that Edward was missing.

She sighed deeply, struggling to maintain her professional exterior. She was standing guard outside the colonel's office door, ready to alert him if anyone came by and wanted to see him. For some reason, everyone who had come by so far had suddenly gone pale and realized that they had urgent business to attend to on the other side of the building. Not that it mattered to her. She didn't want to deal with them anyways.

She was finally rewarded for her patience when a shaken and concerned Denny Brosh left the inner office a few moments later. She waited until Brosh exited the outer office before rapping sharply on the door and receiving permission to enter.

The colonel was seated at his desk, eyebrows forced together and mouth twisted into a scathing sneer. His eyes snapped with anger and, at some point, he had swept the paperwork off his desk and into the floor in a fit of rage. Probably right after the sergeant exited the room. Even so, she gave him a disapproving look before stooping to pick up the offending forms and reports that littered the room. When she had finished gathering both her thoughts and the papers, she finally spoke.

"I take it Sergeant Brosh's report wasn't as helpful as we hoped it would be."

The colonel sighed, running a hand through his hair and leaning back as far as his chair allowed. He'd regained some of his composure by this time and schooled his expression into one of mere irritation.

"It's hard to say if the incident has anything to do with Fullmetal's disappearance, but it's the only lead we have right now. There are a lot of things about this that just don't add up. We have a pretty good idea of when he disappeared and the time-frame matches up. And if these people really were Fullmetal and his kidnappers, we even know where, thanks to Sergeant Brosh's involvement. But we're still missing some crucial information. Who are they? Why do they want Fullmetal? What are they planning to do with him? And how much time do we have before he's beyond our reach? We just don't know enough. We can't get the investigations team involved until we know for sure that this isn't a wild goose chase. That's where you come in, Hawkeye.

"I've sent Sergeant Brosh to rendezvous with Major Armstrong. When he returns, he'll have sketches of the supposed Curtis family. You are to memorize their faces and any identifying characteristics. When you've finished, you will pass the sketches on to Falman and instruct him to make sure the rest of the team memorizes them as well. Sergeant Brosh will then escort you to the alley this 'Edison Curtis' was found in. Investigate the area thoroughly and report anything unusual immediately. Meanwhile, I will be putting together a search team for Fullmetal. I can't deploy them until tomorrow morning, so until then, this assignment will be treated as a Code Amber mission. Information is to be given out strictly on a need-to-know basis. Have I made myself clear?"

"Clear as crystal, sir."

"Good. And Hawkeye?"

"Sir?"

"…Watch yourself out there. We have no idea what these people are capable of. You're dismissed."

Heart pounding, but outwardly calm and collected, Riza Hawkeye saluted and left her colonel alone in his office.

When she reentered the outer office, she soon found herself facing a trembling wall of metal. She blinked and stepped back to get a better look at the worried giant. He seemed ready to get down on his knees and beg, if that's what it took to find out what had happened to his older brother. Her face softened ever so slightly and her calm, quiet voice called him to her side.

Riza grabbed her coat from the rack and left the room with Alphonse after giving a stern look to each of the men sitting in the outer office- especially Jean Havoc- to warn them to be on their best behavior while she was gone. They walked to the kennels on the other side of the building in silence despite the boy's obvious desire to know what the colonel was going to do about his brother's disappearance now. When they'd reached their destination, she signaled Alphonse to stay put as she picked Black Hayate up. She returned quickly, dog in tow, and they set off once again.

Firm footsteps, the clicking of toenails, and a familiar groaning clang echoed around the empty hallways, somehow intensifying the silence. The tension surrounding the strange trio grew with every step, until the air seemed to moan with the weight of it. They made it as far as the front entrance before Riza stopped suddenly and spun around, kind expression and tender smile contrasting sharply with her business-like tone as she forestalled the frustrated boy's demands.

"It would be best if Black Hayate and I escorted you to your apartment. We don't need anything happening to a civilian so close to headquarters. And since Major Elric is indisposed at the moment, I think this would be a good opportunity to update him about the current situation. Don't you agree, Alphonse?"

Red eyes met brown and a horn ornamented helmet nodded in hesitant agreement. The massive suit of armor took the lead and set off for the military housing a few streets away. He took his "escort" on a few detours to shake off any pursuers, and even with his attempt to set a brisk pace, an hour passed before the trio stood outside the Elric brothers' apartment.

Riza glanced around, covertly checking the snow and ice covered streets for anyone foolish enough to ambush Riza Hawkeye and her charge as Alphonse unlocked the thick wooden door. No one was in sight and she nodded, indicating that he should open the door and enter as quickly as possible. He jerked in nervous acknowledgement and opened the door, only to close it quickly again, glancing down at Black Hayate.

"Um. Miss Hawkeye? Hayate doesn't…um…chase cats…does he?"

Riza blinked and looked down at the obedient pup sitting next to her feet, tail wagging slightly to show his pleasure in the deviation from his normal routine. She stared at him for a few moments before shaking her head and allowing a rueful smile onto her lovely face.

"He's made a lot of progress, but I don't think he would be able to resist a cat. And if he did start chasing one, I don't think I could get a clear shot to persuade him to stop. It's probably best if I leave him on guard duty out here."

"But…Miss Hawkeye, couldn't he run away? And what if the blizzard comes early and…"

Riza cut him off with a raised eyebrows and a playful smirk.

"He may not be ready to handle a cat, but he wouldn't dare run away. Besides, we'll be leaving as soon as we finish catching up."

Her expression was almost comically serious as she turned to loom over the nearly still form of her canine companion, her voice commanding and firm, finger pointed dramatically at the floor next to the door frame.

"Black Hayate, guard."

The puppy wagged his tail one last time before trotting to his post and sitting down. He looked around alertly, ready to bark at anyone that came by. Nodding in satisfaction, Riza gestured for Alphonse to open the door again. He complied and they entered the apartment.

Her first impression was of warmth and comfort. Embers of a small, slow burning fire glowed warmly behind a wrought iron screen in the tiny fireplace. What she assumed was the living room was sparsely furnished, but the sofa and lone chair were comfortably close to one another. Haphazard stacks of books on and around a small end table gave a lived-in feel to the room that had a charm all its own.

That was her first impression.

When she took a closer look, she saw that everything was slightly dusty, as if the people living here had taken an unexpected trip and would return at any moment. Then she noticed that the film of dust had been disturbed in several places by various things. Footprints led away from the door, a sweeping pattern that could have been made by a lashing tail showed on a couch cushion, and over it all was a myriad of paw prints. She continued her observations as Alphonse shut the door behind himself and busily stoked the fire back to roaring life.

As the sound of the shut door rang through the small flat, curious feline faces peered around door-frames and from behind the scant furniture. Riza counted seven cats of varying size, color, and age. One, more brazen than the rest, sauntered out from his hiding place behind the couch and over to Al's crouching form. The young, dark gray jumped onto the armor's broad, unfeeling shoulders and arranged itself delicately around spikes before placing a paw possessively on the large helmet, tail twitching as it glared challengingly across the room.

Alphonse finished working on the fire and straightened up, finally noticing the cat that had made itself at home on his body. He reached up and absentmindedly began petting it as he invited Riza to join him in sitting on the couch. She did so, and settled back into the cushions with a sigh. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as the other felines decided to join them. Tails flicked across her face and wet noses explored her hands, hoping for one of the treats that always seemed to appear when a certain cat loving boy was nearby. She shooed them off her lap and hid her face with a weary sigh.

It was going to be difficult to make Alphonse understand what was necessary to find Edward. She doubted he would keep out of their way for long, but an armored giant asking questions tended to stick out in anyone's mind. His involvement would only make their search more difficult.

Her lips twitched into a hopeless little smile. She hated the fact that she couldn't tell Alphonse the whole plan. She hated that this innocent boy, who was just worried about his older brother, was going to be lied to. She hated that she couldn't be there to comfort him. She hated that she couldn't protect him from the world. She hated the military and all it had done. She hated being a good soldier. But orders were orders. It had to be done. It was best for them all.

Riza's shoulders straightened and she eased her expression into a reassuring smile. She looked the boy in his eyes, his pure soul shining through, and began to lie to him.

And he believed her.

She told him that Sergeant Brosh had given them a good lead on where Ed might be. She told him that the military had already found the Curtis family, and were watching them for any signs of misconduct. She told him that if he got involved as a civilian it would only complicate matters, and make the entire investigation worthless.

She lied. And he believed her.

Her heart cracked a little more with every word she said. She got a little closer to breaking down and screaming out the truth every time she looked into those trusting eyes. She hated herself more with every lie and false smile that slid its way across her lips. But she didn't stop. She told him a twisted, cruel story disguised as kindness and kept her composure. She didn't let him catch a single glimpse of her internal agony. She smiled and said that everything was fine, that soon everything would be just like it always had.

She lied. And he believed her.

It seemed like an eternity passed before she finally took her leave of the increasingly optimistic soul. In reality, it had only taken her about ten minutes to weave her twisted palace of lies. Alphonse showed her to the door, as if she deserved to be treated like a lady after the terrible, cruel things she'd done. But she nodded in gratitude, and walked down the ice covered street to headquarters with Black Hayate trailing behind her.

She turned down a side street, taking yet another detour that conveniently took her out of the gentle, deceived boy's line of sight. She stopped and looked around, checking to see if anyone was with her on this cold, icy stretch of road. She didn't allow her strong, optimistic façade to melt away until she was sure there was no one around to see.

Riza dropped heavily onto her knees, finally allowing the tears burning behind her eyes to snake their way down her face. Hayate whined in distress and pressed himself against her heaving chest. She stiffened in surprise before giving him a shaky smile and holding him close to her heart with trembling hands. They sat, intertwined on the cold ground, until she forced herself to get a grip on her rampant emotions. She pushed the puppy away gently and scrubbed her face with a handful of snow. Standing on steady legs once again, she ignored the single tear that inched its way down her face. Impassive mask back in place, shoulders steady, and breathing calmly, she was ready to resume her duty.

I don't have time to cry. No time to be weak. No time for emotions. No time to be human. There is only time to be strong. Only time to follow orders. Only time to be a soldier. Only time to be a monster.

She sat inflexibly at her desk in Central headquarters. She'd gotten back about 20 minutes ago, and had immediately attacked what little remained of her daily paperwork. She'd polished it off in record time- thirteen minutes and fifty-four seconds, to be precise- and had been waiting for Sergeant Brosh to appear since then. Exactly six minutes and six seconds, by her reckoning.

She was finding it much more difficult than usual to maintain a professional exterior. Ever since her little episode earlier, her nerves had been stretched tighter than she'd thought possible. Her very skin felt two sizes too small.

She sighed and shifted in her chair, looking at a carefully concealed schedule before glancing over at the clock in the corner of the room. Finally, she had found something to do. She pushed back her chair and marched over to the inner office's door. She opened it without knocking and was already opening her mouth to berate her superior for taking a nap when he should be working- again- before she realized what Roy was really doing in his office. And even then she didn't quite believe it.

His eyes were half-closed in concentration, eyes focused on what he held in his hand. A finger traced its way down and eyes closed as his other hand gripped harder. He sighed heavily and let his eyes drift open to the half-way mark again. He smirked and let go, laying stained hands on the desk in front of him and watching the object settle. He picked up a slender tube and carelessly ripped it open. With infinite more care, he leaned over and touched its tip to the object that still held all of his attention. The cylinder danced teasingly across it over and over again as he took care of each area that needed his attention, tainting his hands again in the process. He only stopped when he heard the quiet, strangled moan that had finally found its way out of her throat. He looked up frowning. Dark eyes, still unfocused and far away, met Riza's own wide, shocked eyes.

"Did you need something, Lieutenant Hawkeye? Is someone here to see me?"

His voice was low and throaty, the words drifting across the room and slipping into her ears, which felt stuffed with cotton. Clearly, he was still preoccupied.

She cleared her suddenly dry throat and managed to choke out a negative before walking unsteadily out of the inner office. She closed the door behind her clumsily and began to stumble over to her desk. On the way there she bumped into Havoc's chair, jarring him out of his work-oriented bubble of focus, and staggered the last few steps before collapsing into her chair.

Havoc frowned and levered himself out of his seat. He approached the woman warily, ready to dive out of the way if she tried to pull a gun on him in her current state.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye? You alright, ma'am? Did something happen with the colonel?"

By now, the other men in the room had stopped their various activities and were watching the blonds with concern. Riza looked around at each of them with wild eyes before letting a slightly hysterical giggle slip past her lips.

"Roy is…and you're not…and he's not…and I lied to him…orders…but I can't…not the same…but he needs…I need…and I can't…and Roy just…just…"

A tears rolled slowly down her cheek as she laughed helplessly. Air was getting harder to come by and she couldn't stop shaking, but this couldn't be happening. Not really. Not here. Not in front of the men who respected her so much. She couldn't be giving in to her weaknesses in front of them. She wouldn't allow it. She was fine. She was strong. Her hands burrowed into her hair, clutching her head as she tried desperately to piece herself back together. She heard familiar, anxious voices in the background, but the one she longed to hear most wasn't there. And might never be there again. A strangled gasp interrupted her uncontrollable giggling as this errant thought blind-sided her.

And then strong arms surrounded her. Ink stained hands cradled her head and a deep voice was whispering soothing words. Her shaking slowed and hands desperate to get some hold on reality seized his jacket as hysterical laughter turned into gut-wrenching sobs. She found herself whispering, low and fast, gasping out everything running through her mind in an unintelligible stream. And she was ashamed. The words just kept tumbling out, running together, defying her every effort to halt the flow.

"Nothing's the same. It's all different. It's not the same. You're doing paperwork. You actually read it. You read it all. I saw you. And then you signed it. Why did you sign it? I'm supposed to sign it. Not you. You're supposed to think, and, and sleep. And Havoc, Havoc's supposed to smoke. Why isn't he smoking? And Breda, he's not afraid of Hayate. He's supposed to be screaming. Why isn't he screaming? And why is Fuery crying? Fuery smiles. He doesn't cry. He should never cry. And Falman, he forgot. He forgot where he put the files, but he never forgets. And it's not the same and I can't fix it. I just made it worse…I lied Roy. I lied to him. How could I? But it was just orders…just orders. I have to be strong. Have to follow orders. Have to fix everything. Have to find him. Have to protect him. Have to save him. I have to Roy. He needs me. But I can't. I can't. I'm too weak. Too soft. Worthless. A monster could never save him. And it won't stop. It won't stop raining, Roy…it won't stop."

Her traitorous mouth finally seemed to run out of things to say, but the ocean of salty drops still trickled down the contours of her face. Those same strong arms held her tight, rocking her slowly back and forth. That beautiful voice reassured and quieted her, telling her that she was anything but worthless. Those big stained hands smeared ink across her face as they brushed away her tears. And they swayed together in the middle of the outer office, until the last salty orb fell from her dark amber eyes.

She allowed herself a moment more to enjoy the warm and comforting feeling that stemmed from his tight embrace before gently pushing herself away from his chest and sitting up straight. She was surprised to see the circle of chairs surrounding her and Roy. She was even more surprised to see that each man in the circle had the over-bright stare of someone trying valiantly to hold back their own tears. Except Fuery, of course. His face shimmered with moisture, mirroring her own, but he flashed a bright smile her way all the same. Next to him, Havoc smirked and fumbled around in his jacket pocket before pulling out his worn silver lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and took a long drag before blowing the smoke hard in her direction, chuckling at her half-hearted protests. But his wide grin soon faded into a self-mocking smile as he snorted in exasperation.

"Stupid kid's got us all in the palm of his hand. He hasn't even been missing a full day and we're already a mess. Huh. I dunno 'bout you guys, but I'm gonna give the twerp a beating he won't forget as soon as we get him back. How 'bout you colonel; got anything planned for the chief when we find him?"

Roy chuckled mirthlessly as he pushed himself out of his kneeling position in front of Riza's chair. He knuckled his back and stretched, working all the kinks out of his limbs as he groaned out an answer.

"He'll be lucky if I only decide to kick his scrawny hide into the middle of next year. That runt has no consideration for others. Bet he hasn't even thought about all the extra paperwork he's making me fill out. Reckless idiot."

With the mental image of Roy chasing Edward around a paper filled office playing in each of their heads, the last traces of tension left the room on a wave of full-bellied laughter. And if the occasional tear slipped down their faces, it was only because they were laughing so hard. It didn't have anything to do with Edward's disappearance. Nothing at all.

This was the scene that greeted a bemused Denny Brosh when he finally appeared. Riza managed to stop chuckling shortly after he entered the room, but the men around her were still lost to their own bouts of merriment; snickering, hooting, and generally trying not to fall over from lack of breath. She stood and grinned at the mystified sergeant before grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. She signaled Hayate to follow her and slipped out of the circle of guffawing men, dancing back to avoid the occasional flailing limb on her way out. She couldn't hear herself think over the uproar, so she pulled Brosh out into the hallway and shut the door firmly behind her. The still thoroughly confused Sergeant handed the sketches over wordlessly and waited nervously for her to finish looking them over.

Riza flipped through the pages, examining each drawing closely as she committed them to memory. Major Armstrong had done an incredible job with these. The skills passed down for generations in the Armstrong family had proven their worth once again. She closed her eyes, mentally picturing each of the sketched figures before checking herself for accuracy. Satisfied with her familiarity of the images, she told Brosh to wait a moment and re-entered the outer office.

By now, Havoc was doubled over in his chair struggling for breath as he watched Fuery trying to tickle Breda, who had fallen out of his chair and was begging for mercy in between wild convulsions and gasping laughter. Falman was still snickering, but Roy had regained control and was limiting himself to a huge smirk and the occasional bark of laughter as he egged his subordinates on.

Riza smiled fondly at their antics and walked over to Falman's desk, somehow avoiding the undignified sprawl of men and chairs alike. She placed the sketches on top of his neat pile of undone paperwork and wrote a short note placing him in charge of making sure everyone on the team had them memorized. When she was done, she maneuvered herself out of the office and back into the hallway where Brosh was still waiting. Riza indicated that he should follow her and Hayate as she strode briskly towards the entrance of Central Headquarters.

"Sergeant Brosh, I'm glad you could make it. I'm sure the sketches you brought in will be extremely helpful to our investigation. For now, though, I need you to take me to the alley Edison Curtis was found in. We'll start our search there. We've been ordered to treat this as a Code Amber mission, so you will only report developments to myself or Colonel Mustang. Information is to be given out on a need-to-know basis. You are to limit your contact with all those not assigned to this mission. This includes Second Lieutenant Ross. Do you understand your orders?"

Brosh wilted, but saluted dutifully all the same.

"Yes, ma'am. If you'll follow me, I'll take you there immediately."

They set off in silence, Riza trying desperately to avoid the memories of just a few hours earlier while Brosh was busy lamenting his separation from Maria. What they lacked in conversation, they made up for in speed and efficiency. A scant 45 minutes later and the small group of investigators was observing the alley in front of them.

"This is it, Lieutenant Hawkeye. He was between those two dumpsters when Mrs. Curtis brought me to him."

She nodded and quickly scanned the snow-blanketed cul-de-sac.

"Alright. Let's see what we can find. Sergeant, you start looking through the garbage bins. In the meantime, Hayate and I will search the surrounding area. Let me know as soon as you find anything."

Riza took Brosh's expression of dejected resignation as confirmation of his agreement. She turned, marched out of the alley, and began her own search.

About an hour passed and the sky grew dark with snow-laden clouds. Riza sighed. They still hadn't found anything, but it looked like the blizzard wasn't going to wait much longer. She and Hayate had covered several of the surrounding alleys and one or two side streets, hoping to find a sign of struggle or another hint at the reason for Edward's disappearance. She whistled to the diligently searching puppy and stepped out of the alley onto the main street.

Hayate bounded past her, thoroughly enjoying his second outing of the day before stopping suddenly in the middle of the street. His ears swiveled and his nose twitched in curiosity before he yelped and bulldozed through a pile of snow in the middle of the road. Riza blinked in surprise before trotting over to him. Hayate abruptly stopped digging and sneezed, swaying slightly. His tail drooped and he let out a confused whine before falling over as he tried to back away from the strange, sweet smell. When she saw him sway, Riza picked up her pace and slipped on a patch of ice. She took advantage of her sudden slide and angled herself towards the pup, reaching him just in time to catch him as he fell backwards. She examined him quickly and, finding no trace of injury, shifted her gaze to the small hole before her.

She reached carefully into the recess, ready to jerk her arm out at the slightest indication of danger. Her fingers soon brushed stiff fabric. She grasped it with the tips of her fingers and drew it out. She eyed the cloth sharply as she held it as far away from herself as she could. It was white, wet, and half-frozen. A sickly sweet smell was wafting faintly from it. Perhaps Hayate had found something after all. She dropped the cloth on the ground and carefully scrubbed her hands clean in the snow. She pulled a pair of thick winter gloves out of her coat pocket and slipped them on before scooping Hayate up into a one-armed cradle. With her other arm, she picked the cloth up by its corner and held it straight out to the side.

She walked deliberately into the alley where she found Sergeant Brosh with half of his body buried inside a medium-sized dumpster. She was just in time to hear an exclamation of surprise. Still not aware of her presence, Brosh began squirming awkwardly out of the dumpster while calling loudly for her.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye! I think you should see this ma'am!"

He finally flung himself out of the trash bin and spun around, only to find her standing right behind him. He yelped and fell backwards, head hitting the container with a loud metallic clang.

"Find something, Sergeant?"

Brosh sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a grimace.

"Yes ma'am. Take a look. I'm pretty sure this counts as a development."

"I'd be happy to, but it seems my hands are full at the moment. Perhaps you could...?"

Brosh started again, finally noticing the groggy puppy and the damp cloth she was holding carefully away from them all.

"Ah! Of course. I'll just..."

He took both from her, and jerked his aching head over to the still-open dumpster.

"You should see what I'm talking about right away. I got most of the glass away from it, so I think you should be able to get to it with no problems."

Riza nodded and leaned into the trash bin. Her breath caught and her eyes closed tightly when she saw what Brosh was talking about. Surrounded by broken glass, a familiar pocket watch and a discolored overcoat rested in the bottom of the garbage receptacle. When she was sure she could control her reaction, she reopened her eyes and reached down to pick up Edward's possessions. She twisted around until her feet were touching snow again and pushed herself out of the dumpster, evidence in hand.

On closer examination, the pocket watch was still in pretty good condition. It was grungy from it's stay in a heap of trash and had a few new scratches, but it could easily be restored to its original condition. The jacket, on the other hand, really did belong in a garbage can. Its brilliant crimson red was marred with pale pink designs and the white fur trimming was matted with grime. It had acquired a sharp, chemical smell that, when added to the stench of garbage and occasional waft of cloying sweetness, created a perfectly nauseating bouquet. Riza grimaced and turned to face Brosh.

"Good work, Sergeant. I think we've found enough to request an official investigation. We need to contact the colonel as soon as possible. Is there a phone booth in this area?"

"Better than that, ma'am. My house is just a street or two away. We can use the phone there."

"Excellent. Lead the way Sergeant Brosh. And be careful of that rag. It's soaked in some kind of tranquilizer. It took Hayate out in a matter of seconds."

Brosh gulped and held the cloth as far away from himself as he could manage. They walked out of the alley together and hurried to the small house Brosh called home. Within minutes, they were standing outside his front door. Unknown to Riza, Brosh was finding himself in a very familiar situation: full arms, locked door, and keys beyond reach. All Riza knew was that he had turned very pale, very quickly. He seemed to struggle with something internally before turning around and facing her. He opened his mouth only to have what little blood he had left in his face drain away. He seemed to change his mind about whatever it was he was going to say and instead asked her to hold the chemical soaked fabric for a moment. She did so and wondered what he had really wanted to say. He retrieved a set of keys from his back pocket in short order, unlocking the door and pushing it open before taking the rag again and hurrying out of her way.

Riza stepped into a cozily furnished living room. The house was furnished in a whimsical manner and pictures were everywhere-especially pictures of Second Lieutenant Maria Ross. She shook her head in exasperation and placed her own burdens onto a strangely shaped end table. She asked Brosh where the phone was and set off to inform Roy of their findings. She dialed the office telephone and gave the operator her authorization code. It rang for a few moments before a young tenor picked up on the other side.

"Colonel Mustang's office, Master Sergeant Fuery speaking."

"Fuery, it's Hawkeye. I need to speak with the colonel right away."

"Ah, um, of course. Just a moment." There was a short pause and a few moments later the bass voice of her superior shivered its way into her ears.

"Hawkeye, report."

"Sir. We've found evidence to support our theory that Major Elric was kidnapped yesterday."


	6. Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bending of the technological timeline in this chapter. Also the chapter that changes the rating from 'T' to 'M'.

The day was turning out to be simply beautiful. Snow blanketed everything and there wasn't a soul in sight. The railroad tracks were completely frozen over and the sun itself seemed to be encased in a shell of ice. Everything was preserved perfectly and the abnormally still winter air gave the sense of being suspended in time. It was the perfect beginning to forever. The wait would finally be over. They could be together forever and always. And after tonight, no one could ever change that.

The shapely brunette smiled as she stepped back from her window. She'd been preparing all day, and now…now, she was almost perfect. Her nails were trimmed and polished, her skin, soft and sensuous, glowing with its own natural copper. Her hair was carefully curled and arranged to frame her face. Her mouth was coated with red paint, shining in the weak sunlight and giving her an innocent, pouting expression. Her chestnut eyes were accented with the slightest hint of mascara, her cheeks brightened with a light brush of rouge. It was time for the last few touches. She had to be perfect tonight, after all. For her Eddie, she would become the breath-taking woman he had fallen in love with. She would become his fantasy. She would remind him of everything he had forgotten in their long separation. She must be perfect.

She fluttered around her bedroom, making sure she had everything ready for her trip to see Eddie, and spun to a stop in front of the dress. It was a beautiful confection of black lace and white satin. The fitted corset was covered in ebony floral embellishments that crept down the gown at an artistic angle. The sleeveless work of art was set off by a sable flower that would rest just above her right breast while the full skirt floated effortlessly away from the small, hidden waistline.

She lifted it reverently from its rest across her bed and trailed her fingers lightly over the intricate garden of black lace, smiling contently. She'd been so happy when Eddie had asked her to wear her mother's dress on their special day. He knew just how much it meant to her that he would allow such a thing. He was so thoughtful and kind. Her Eddie would do anything for her. And she for him.

She draped the gown over her bed once more and undid the soft belt of her bathrobe. She let the warm garment fall to the floor, revealing a body that curved in all the right places. Her muscles were lean and well-toned- almost feline in build- and her skin was pulled taut over the slight curve of her stomach. Stepping away from the small bundle, she picked the gorgeous dress up once again.

She slipped into it, enjoying the smooth, slick glide of satin against her bare body. She hadn't bothered to put on underclothes of any type. They would only get in the way later. Besides, she wasn't sure if her Eddie would be up to the challenge of waiting when he saw how beautiful she was. Yes, underclothes would just get in the way.

She shivered in anticipation. Her lower stomach was already smoldering, skin tight and flushed as she felt the familiar ache of loneliness and love. Tonight she could finally act on that desperate, burning need. She would take her precious Eddie to the peak of passion and they would both be quenched. She reveled in her body's feverish need for release. She treasured each moment her blood seared through her veins, begging for mercy. Tonight. Tonight it would all end. Tonight was the start of forever.

With such thoughts spurring her on, she finished fastening the row of tiny black buttons that marched up her back. She reached for the long, white silk gloves that were arranged carefully on her dresser. She pulled them on gently, pausing every now and then to straighten the seam, until each finger was in its proper place. She then tugged on a pair of knee-length white supple boots. She drew the lacing tight and wove the remaining ribbon back down the boots before tying it all off with a simple bow at the base of her ankle. She straightened up and seemed to dance over to her window. It was time to add the pièce de résistance.

She leaned forward slightly and grasped the bottom of her windowpane and heaved. The glass opened with a sharp _crack_ of broken ice. A gloved hand reached out and meticulously shifted through the snow-filled window box just outside. Finally, she found her hidden treasure. Her left hand joined her right in lifting a perfect, frozen white dahlia out of its prison. Each petal was flawlessly preserved, the thin film of ice enclosing it only intensifying its impeccable beauty.

Her gloves slid over the glassy surface as she glided over to her dresser once more. Looking carefully in the mirror on the wall, she nestled the frozen blossom into the curls on the left side of her head. She held it in place with one hand and with the other, shoved a waiting pin through the already thawing stem and into her hair. She wrapped a ribbon around the pin and into ringlets, ensuring that the dahlia would stay in place, no matter what. She let go of her prize and observed herself in the mirror, twirling a few times to get the full effect. Now. Now she was perfect. It was time to greet her love and begin their life together. Together forever and always.

She spun around the room, unable to contain her glee. She flounced over to her bed and grabbed a large metal tub filled with anything and everything they could possibly need. She carried it into her living room and set it next to the beckoning door. She snatched a long black coat from the rack and forced her arms through the sleeves. Not wanting to be apart from her sweet Eddie any longer than absolutely necessary, she didn't bother buttoning it up but instead jerked the door open, retrieved the tub of supplies and set off, kicking the door shut behind her.

* * *

Edward wasn't quite sure when he'd gone to sleep, but he knew he had. He must have. His consciousness was adrift in a sea of dark apathy, his thoughts unfocused and unbearably slow. This had never happened before. Even in his dreams, his thoughts had always been like quicksilver, rushing through his mind in a torrent of information, ever ready to change course. This feeling of numbness that surrounded him was new, and for some reason, slightly disturbing. But he couldn't imagine how this new sensation could be bad. In fact, the more he thought about it- as slow as that process was- the more he decided he liked it. This paralysis of mind gave him something he hadn't had in a long time: peace. He was free to just _be,_ and at the moment, that was more than enough.

He let himself float in the depths of his own mind, passively enjoying the lazy circulation of disjointed thoughts. He was vaguely pleased when a feminine voice intruded on his hazy existence. Maybe the voice would tell him what was going on. Maybe it was just an old, half-forgotten memory. He couldn't bring himself to care either way.

He felt a distant tug on what he thought might be his neck, and a damp softness he hadn't been aware of was removed. Almost immediately, the mental fog that held him captive began to fade away.

The voice grew steadily louder and he could almost understand what it was saying. Almost, but not quite. He wanted to demand that the voice start speaking Amestrian and tell him why his brain was so hazy when several realizations took him by surprise.

He realized he could feel his body again. He also realized that it felt like he'd been hit by a train- or perhaps an emotional Armstrong. His torso felt like one massive bruise and was throbbing gently to the rhythm of his abnormally slow heartbeat. The skin on his neck felt blistered and swollen, making each sluggish breath a struggle. His head was threatening to split in two, and over it all was a nauseating turbulence that emanated from his sore middle. It wasn't until this overwhelming need to vomit made itself known that the true extent of his current predicament became evident.

There was something in his mouth. Something that felt suspiciously like a gag. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move his arms to take it out.

_No. No freakin' way. There is *no way* I'm going to choke on my own puke. That bastard! That absolute *bastard*! He's dead. I'll kill him. I'll kill him! I'll rip his feet off and cram 'em down his throat and sink him in the river where no one can hear him scream. And then I'll-  
_

This enjoyable train of thought was cut short when sudden, involuntary movement left him with a spinning head and an increasingly irritable stomach that demanded his complete and immediate attention. As it was, even with his considerable willpower and outright refusal to drown in sick, he was just barely able to keep control of himself.

Meanwhile, the feminine voice was keeping up a constant stream of incomprehensible words and cooing noises. The occasional word found its way through a mental barrier of extreme concentration, and soon he would have done just about anything to find out what was really going on here. She couldn't really be talking about what he thought she was…could she? As soon as his head stopped swimming, he devoted the freed sliver of his mind to answering a list of questions that went something like this:

Where was he? How did he get here? What was going on? Where were Al and Winry? Where was the bastard that had done this to him? And speaking of bastards, where was the Number One Bastard Colonel when you needed him?

Without a second thought, he decided the Bastard Colonel was off being a bastard and slacking off. Obviously, he wouldn't be any help. Stupid bastard _._

Now things got much trickier. He searched through his most recent memories, hoping to find some sort of clue, but all he found were more questions.

The last thing he remembered was taking a walk down by the river with Winry and Den. Al was...Al was with Granny Pinako, helping with dinner. They were supposed to return to Central tomor- But tomorrow must have already come, so... They were supposed to return to Central today- or yesterday- or something. But they'd visited Mom's grave...And it was getting dark. They were walking back home…and…and…that was all he could remember.

He ground his teeth together in frustration. If his memory was reliable, something had happened while he was still in Resembool. The bastards must have caught him from behind. And since they'd been together, Winry had probably been caught as well. Perfect. Now he had to worry about Winry's safety on top of everything else. But, if his memory was faulty…well, there was nothing he could do about it. He could only work with the information he did have. Either way, Alphonse was probably worried sick. He might even be looking for them by now. Edward sighed internally and shut off that line of thought. He couldn't- wouldn't- rely on anyone else to get Winry and himself out of this mess.

He spent several more minutes chasing his thoughts in ever-widening circles, his mind spitting out half-thought plans that grew more ridiculous by the second. He finally managed to choke off that fruitless exercise when he realized his latest scheme featured a heroic climb to the top of the building with Winry on his back while fighting off an unknown number of assailants and demolishing the entire complex, culminating in a dramatic jump from the roof at the last possible instant to escape untouched. And that was simply impossible. He couldn't fight off more than one or two men with Winry on his back in his best day- it would be too easy for her to get hit. Then again, he didn't know for _sure_ that his captors were actually competent. Actually, they all seemed like complete idiots. What moron would leave him alone with an unarmed maid as a guard? He might be able to pull off... _something_. He just needed real-time information. It was time to stop feigning sleep and find out as much as he could- hopefully without alerting his captors.

Still fighting down nausea, Edward pried open his eyes. He immediately regretted it, a blurred, over-bright, and gently rocking room decorated with flecks of vague emptiness greeted him. He slammed his eyelids shut and gritted his teeth as he worked to subdue his heaving, squirming insides. When he was sure the unhappy organ was under control once more, he cracked his amber eyes open again. He watched through squinting eyes, ready for the moment when the dizzying spectacle of the incandescent room and the unnerving specks of nothing would force him to shut the teary orbs and recompose himself.

He couldn't make out much, but he was pretty sure he was in a warehouse. Everything looked strange through his bleary vision, but he thought the large cubes around him must be boxes of some sort. Across the room, a vaguely feminine shape was moving around and sprinkling small white somethings around a heap of squarish fabric- blankets and a few lumps he thought might be pillows. A sense of strong foreboding engulfed him, and he swallowed hard. Half a second later, eyes watering and mentally cursing his inflamed neck, Edward choked back a groan of pain. He had to keep quiet. He needed any possible edge he could get, and the longer he could keep his conscious state a secret from the humming female, the better.

Speaking of the woman, she'd finished with her business around the distant tangle of bedding and begun setting up what he thought might be a video camera on a tripod. While her back was turned, he surveyed as much of the room as he could without moving. He appeared to be propped against the back wall of an enormous storage room. Tall stacks of fuzzy crates and towering piles made up of indiscernible shapes were scattered all around. He cast his scrutinizing gaze over every patch of wall he could see, but was forced to admit that there really wasn't a door to take advantage of. Instead, his sight wavered on a scene he couldn't quite make sense of.

The floor was...missing. Just there, against a portion of the distant wall. He tried to make it out more clearly, but his head was still swimming. He hadn't seen any other way out, so the 'hole' in the floor must be a staircase of some sort- maybe even a tunnel, though he thought that was unlikely.

_There's our way out. Now all I have to do is get these stupid ropes off, take out the old lady, find Winry, and get her out of here *fast*. I don't think I'll be able to put up much of a fight, but if I can buy enough time for her to get Al…That's our only option. I just hope I've got enough in me to take care of everyone before they can sound the alarm…_

It was at that precise moment that the humming female finished adjusting the camera and turned around. Edward shut his eyes quickly, swearing mentally and hoping beyond hope that she hadn't noticed that he was awake yet. His hopes were dashed when he heard a delighted giggle and the rapid clicking of heels on wood.

" _Eddie_! I _know_ you're awake, Eddie. Don't you want to see me? I got all dressed up, just for you. Don't you know what today is? Open your eyes, honey. I'll be upset if you don't. Come _on_. Open them!"

He exhaled slowly, knowing that it would be pointless to refuse, and opened his eyes. A copper face with large brown eyes and bright red pouting lips filled his vision. He flinched in surprise, beginning yet another internal battle of wills. She broke into a grin and straightened up before twirling for him, still chattering away.

"I have _so_ much to tell you, Eddie! So much has happened since you left, I simply don't know where to begin! But we'll have _forever_ together, so don't worry. I'll tell you absolutely _everything_! Oh, I'm so glad you're _back_! I know you said that you'd _always_ come back, _no matter what_ , but I didn't believe you after that _terrible_ accident...But now you're here, and we can be together forever, _just_ like we always wanted. Oh, _Eddie_ , I know you might not _remember_ much, but I'm sure it'll _all_ come back to you. Don't worry if it doesn't make much sense right now, I'll explain _everything_ after we _finally_ get married. But we can't get married with you all tied up, can we? I thought you would have made more progress by now. Don't move, I'll be _right_ back!"

The nameless brunette flitted across the room and down the mysterious hole in the floor, leaving a thoroughly shocked Edward behind her.

_She's crazy. Absolutely nuts. I have no idea who she is, and she wants to get *married*? This is insane! She's got to be almost twenty years older than me! I'm only sixteen! I can't get *married*! Who does she think she is? Who does she think *I* am? And where's Winry? Oh crap...Winry! She'll blow a gasket if she finds out I'm getting married to some psycho! ...Wait a minute...What if...? No. No, no, no. Crap! Winry, I'm coming! Don't you *dare* get yourself married to some wack job before I get there to save you!_

Luckily, the pretty female came tripping back up the steps at that very moment. Ed waited impatiently for her to cross the large room and cut him free so he could knock her out and go save Winry from...whatever this was. His stomach was still in knots, his vision was next to useless, and his head was throbbing in unison with the rest of his body, perfectly in time with the slowed heartbeat that made everything so much more _difficult_. But no matter what, he was going to get Winry out of here. No way was he going to let some crazy bastard do anything to her.

He'd provide a distraction and tell her to run. He'd claim that she would only get in his way and that the best thing she could do was go find Al and get help. She'd believe him. It was mostly the truth, after all. And then, when she was safely away, he'd take it all. He'd accept whatever the insane bastards chose to do to him. Equivalent exchange. His pain for her safety.

While he'd been formulating this new plan, the curvy woman had been busily sawing away at his bindings with a sharp kitchen knife. She cut through the last rope across his torso and began removing the troublesome gag. As soon as she turned her attention to his face, Edward tried to bring his arms up in a sudden blow to her middle, hoping to knock her out with one hit. Instead, something very different happened.

Edward couldn't move. He tried again, only to have the same result: a vague twitch from his flesh arm and a metallic click as his automail fingers curled slightly inward. His eyes widened in panic at the awful realization. He couldn't save Winry. He couldn't save one of the two people that meant everything in the world to him.

He'd promised himself that he'd save her, no matter what...but just like so many other times before, so many other promises made to people he loved, this one was broken. Mother...Alphonse...Nina...and now Winry, too...How pathetic. All his years of training, his extensive knowledge of alchemy, his strong body and stronger automail...He had every advantage in the world and he still couldn't save anyone...not even himself.

How useless. How weak. How _predictable_.

His will to fight drained away as the hated gag was finally removed from his mouth. He promptly gave in to his body's desperate need and vomited all over the strange white coat he'd been dressed in. He resigned himself to whatever hell this woman decided to put him through. He deserved it. Equivalent exchange. His pain for hers. His heart for hers. He would even give his life for her, his very soul- but it wasn't his to give. His body and soul belonged to Alphonse. He owed it to him. He could only hope that, whatever happened, he could stay alive long enough to get Al's body back. Even if it meant sacrificing whatever pathetic remnant of his existence was left. For Alphonse...for Winry...he would give it all.

These sobering thoughts echoed through his mind in a continuous loop, pulling his consciousness into a swirling current of guilt and resolve. It no longer mattered what his captives did to him. He would stay alive. He would keep his heart beating long enough to fulfill his promise. It was the least he could do. After that, he didn't care what happened to him.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Edward didn't pay any attention to the brunette's amused rebukes as she maneuvered his limp body out of the freshly soiled coat. In fact, he wasn't aware that he was being moved at all until his arms were lifted to shoulder height and pulled, creating a sharp pain in his ribs that took what little breath he had away. He folded nearly in half as the hands that gripped his arms let go, and a high-pitched, strangled cry tore from his distended neck. His torso screamed in pain, begging him to change positions as his heart pounded weakly, slightly faster in response to the new, unexpected stress.

He immediately shut out the complaints of his twisted body, trapping the pain in a fragile bubble of concentration where it could wait to be dealt with, and set the rest of his being to work on the near impossible task of inhaling. Eyes widened slightly, eyebrows puckered, lips slightly parted, he struggled to suck in the life-giving air. His task was made even more difficult when two deceptively strong arms snaked their way around his chest. They tightened, pushing out what little breath remained in his lungs, and began to drag him across the room. Although he wasn't fighting the weight of his own body anymore, the constrictive hold served just as much of a problem. He was close to passing out, his distressed heart pumping oxygen deprived blood faster, faster, faster through his system- when he was finally released from the stranglehold and left to slump against another crate.

His chest heaved, filling him with sweet breath. Adrenaline surged through his veins, battling the effects of the drug he'd been given, but also increasing the stress on his heart. His airflow became a rasping, shallow collection of frantic inhalations. Automail rattled and muscles twitched, his nerves reacting to the potent chemical that was complicating his existence even further. Edward groaned quietly, desperately trying to regulate his breathing before his body could spin any further out of his control. He forced himself to stay calm and focused on taking slow, deep breaths.

A warm tangle of fabric and flesh settled suddenly on the floor beside him. Arms drew him in once more, pressing him close against a delicately rounded form. He stiffened for a moment before his breath quickened and his heart fluttered wildly. What little control he'd regained over his body shattered, and with that loss of concentration the thin membrane holding back the pain from his cracked ribs burst open.

An avalanche of suppressed agony slammed into his consciousness, forcing his eyes even wider in shock. The flecks of nothing that had once danced teasingly across his vision expanded rapidly until all was darkness interrupted only by an occasional explosion of sickly color. A flood of uncomfortable warmth spread through his aching, trembling body as a hand he couldn't see twined into his hair and guided his head to rest between what could only be her breasts. Something tickled the side of his face and hot, moist air against his ear sent shivers down his spine and further fragmented his already muddled thoughts.

"Smile for the camera, honey. I want us to remember this day forever. Are you ready? Ready for our life together to finally begin? I know I am. In fact…I can't wait one minute longer."

Abrupt movement. A rush of air. The sudden, terrible sensation of falling. Brilliant paroxysms of noxious yellow. Stabs of radiating agony. The slight pressure of another body pressed close against his back. A clenched fist around his burning lungs. Rustling paper, so quiet against the deafening thunder of his frenzied heartbeat. More movement. …And sweet relief.

A hand, wrapped around his own, holding a thin tube and forming curiously familiar looping gestures. The tube is gone and his hand is forcibly closed, while his thumb is pushed back to a painful degree. Damp, sticky liquid coats the pad of his thumb, dripping slowly down his hand. Firm pressure, a soft crinkling noise, still drowned out by his racing pulse, and the soft sensation of silk against his skin disappears. Long minutes pass, marked only by the faint crackle of paper and swift, shuddering inhalations. Confused splinters of thought careen in the chaos that was once called his mind, matching the kaleidoscope of nauseating yellows and lurid greens that undulate in the strange, too hot world he exists in.

And then, a low, breathy giggle. Unexpected weight. Dull, throbbing misery, growing stronger with each moment of unwelcome pressure against his battered torso. The silk-clad hands return briefly to shove a cold sheath of metal around his finger and vanish again. The ticklish sensation against his face returns once more and quick gasps of breath mingle with his own in the still air. Another sudden rush of movement and something is pressed against his mouth, sucking hungrily at his loose bottom lip, raking it roughly over a row of hard ivory. He chokes in surprise, addled mind unable to process what is happening. Arms clutch tightly around him and pull him up, lifting him into the air with titanic effort while a slimy _thing_ invades his cavity. His stomach writhes as he is swung through the air, body swaying as the arms supporting him lower before tossing him upwards with stunning force, ripping apart lips, teeth, and tongue in explosive separation.

The eerie weightlessness returns and the heart-stopping feeling of falling lasts for an unbearable length of time before his limp body crashes into the unforgiving floor below, thin layers of blankets, pillows, and flower petals doing nothing to cushion his landing. Air rips out of his lungs and everything is horrifyingly still for an indeterminable length of time. And then his heart is pounding furiously, trying to rip its way out of his chest. His throat is a conflagration of stinging agony. Muscles shriek their displeasure as his body twitches against the floor, desperately sucking in oxygen, only to expend it again in a quavering moan. But much too soon that horrible weight and its wet appendage is back. It caresses his face, tracing the stubborn curve of his chin before flicking away. The heavy pressure shifts and a quiet gasp of pleasure slides into his stupefied mind.

"Mmm…you taste _so_ good, Eddie. Even sweeter than I remember. We did it, honey. We're finally married. So why don't we skip the party and head straight to the honeymoon, hmm? Mmm. Honeymoon….that sounds absolutely _delightful_."

Eager hands tear at his clothes fumbling, grasping, ripping them off his petite form. He is left exposed and helpless amidst the tangle of bedding and discarded clothes. Unnaturally cold air surrounds him, embracing his skin, teasing it into stiff tautness, tricking his body. He can't possibly be cold. He's in hell. His thick searing blood, the constant varying degrees of pain, the agony of having no control over anything-even his own thoughts-, the unmentionable tortures that were just beginning...They proved where he was without a doubt. Yes, he was in hell.

Somewhere, somehow, he'd failed. He couldn't quite remember why this was such a devastating concept, this idea of failure. But it was. And that alone made him welcome every instant of inflicted harm. He deserved this. No, he _needed_ this. He had to atone for his failure. And he would do it in the only way he knew. He welcomed every pang of agony, each invasive touch, the hot feelings of guilt and shame. This was the price he had to pay. And he would pay it gladly.

He opened himself to this thing that called herself his wife. Allowed her complete access to his trembling body without a fight. And she accepted his surrender whole-heartedly.

Hands newly freed of their silken second skin trail down his bruised body, nails leaving a stark trail of stinging ridges in their wake. Teeth nibble along his jawline as her agile tongue tastes his flesh. Strands of hair prick the raw skin of his throat, delivering new lancing sensations of exquisite pain with every minuscule shift of either of their bodies. Her lower half moves slowly but powerfully, grinding smoothly against his naked form, smashing herself against him and forcing the breath out of his suffering lungs once more.

She works herself into a frenzy, seeming to enjoy every moment of his torment. Her hands stop tracing his muscles abruptly, instead choosing to divide and conquer. One grabs a fistful of hair and yanks his head back as she kisses him aggressively, tongue dominating his oral cavity, exploring every inch of his small orifice. The other shakes with need as she paws her skirt away, finally ready to quench the smoldering fires of her passion. All barriers between them are finally removed and she moves roughly atop him, eager to sate her desires. She quickly grows frustrated with the motionless body underneath her and moves her hand to support the small of his back. She pulls, forcing his slight body to arc into the air. Satisfied with this new method of release, she worked against him vigorously, ignoring his raspy moans and pain-filled gasps as he fought to pull sweet air into his aching lungs.

With each agonizing moment, every humiliating instant of twisted pleasure, Edward desperately held to the one scrap of knowledge that remained in the writhing turmoil of his mind. He deserved this. He needed this. It was his fault. He failed. He deserved this. The familiar litany rang through his troubled consciousness long after she ceased her harsh movements and collapsed in a pleased, sweating heap beside him, drifting into lust-filled dreams. The words echoed in his mind as his erratic pulse finally diminished to a slow, pounding rhythm. They haunted him as the torturous process of dragging air into his sore chest became easier, steadier, calmer- the choked, shallow, sucking pants that wracked his entire frame finally ceasing. They ghosted through his mind as he finally gave in to the siren call of exhausted oblivion. They were the words that followed him through his dreams, turning each moment of his anticipated rest into a never-ending nightmare.

_Failure. Deserve this. Need this. My fault. Deserve this. Deserve worse. Deserve hell._

* * *

She woke gently, smiling with sleepy pleasure as she stretched luxuriously. She sighed with contentment and turned to see her beautiful husband sleeping peacefully beside her. Her smile widened and she propped herself up on her arm before leaning carefully over him, kissing him tenderly in his sleep. She pulled away and watched as his brow crinkled and his lips moved slightly. She beamed and put her ear inches away from his mouth, hoping to catch her name on his lips as he dreamed.

"…Rhee…no…don'…stop…"

She froze, not breathing as his faint, slurred words painted a horrifying picture in her mind, jolting her into complete wakefulness. The hand supporting her weight curled into a tight fist as she finally drew in a shuddering breath. Her eyes narrowed in hurt and absolute fury and she raised her trembling free hand. She drew it back slowly, a tear running down her crimson cheek. With a loud crack, skin met skin, whipping the pale face around forcefully as amber eyes flew open, panicked and unfocused.

Her stinging hand grabbed his throbbing jaw and wrenched, forcing him to meet her livid gaze. She leaned in until she could feel his uneven breath against her heated face. Tears crawled sluggishly down her face, but she ignored them, completely intent on the expression of the face before her. Her voice was low and deceptively calm, not shaking once to betray the violent emotions within. Wide golden eyes stared uncomprehendingly up at her, as she waited impatiently for him to answer her question. She clenched her teeth, unable to wait any longer, and screamed at him. Daring him, begging him, commanding him to answer her.

"Who. Is. Rhee. Answer me. Who is she?"

* * *

Edward had a wide selection of nightmares to choose from. His mother's death. The near loss of his brother. The failed transmutation. Nina's transformation and death. Being attacked by Scar. Needles. The list went on and on, each terrifying in its own way. He expected to have bad dreams. The fear and anxiety they gave him was familiar, perhaps even comforting in some perverted way. But this…this vision was something entirely new. Something that shook him to his core and added a new dimension to the word 'nightmare.' This was real. It was happening right now. And he was powerless to stop it.

The room was dark and gloomy. Dust swirled through the air, dancing gracefully downwards, unaware that the music it whirled to so blissfully was the clanking of chains, the sobbing screams of a young woman, the desperate words of a boy who could do nothing to help, the guttural tones of an animal masquerading as a man. Ignorant that its playful twirls were so disturbingly wrong in this cold, uncaring place. Not knowing that while it frolicked, Edward's whole world was crashing down. The dust danced on.

He begged the man to stop. Pleaded with him to leave Winry alone and do something-anything, to him instead. He deserved it, not her.

_No more. Please. Leave her. Take me. Do everything you want to me. Just don't hurt her. I can take it. Please...just stop._

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. The man didn't stop. And Winry was crying, screaming for him to _do_ something, begging him to save her, shrieking her hate for him as he did nothing but struggle against his chains, pleading for his precious friend's life. Watching as her innocence was taken before his very eyes.

A sudden flash of white. A resounding smack. Sharp, throbbing, aching pain. And all memory of the terrible dream was gone, replaced by a confusing tangle of blurred colors and shapes. A firm hand crushed his already sore jaw and jerked his head around to meet molten brown eyes. Hot liquid dripped onto his face, distracting him momentarily from the too close, too large, too quiet figure in front of him. His eyes flicked downwards, focusing unsteadily on the lips forming words too quietly for him to hear despite their unsettling closeness. The mouth stopped its silent movement and he re-focused blearily on the large eyes so close to his own, wishing that the ringing in his ears would cease.

He watched the face above him contort into a stormy visage, placidly wondering if the impassioned expression had anything to do with the many aches and pains that covered his body. Perhaps he'd done something to anger her. Maybe she was just upset that he couldn't hear her. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. Or maybe he simply didn't care. She wasn't important right now. He returned to his sluggish thoughts.

Where was Winry? He had the most disturbing feeling that there was something wrong with her. But that couldn't be right. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. She was fine. As soon as the room finished swaying and the livid features that filled his vision stopped blurring together, he would ask Al where she was. Al always knew the answers to those kinds of questions. He was such a good younger brother. But...where was Al? He seemed to remember something about him not being here. That didn't make any sense. He and Al were always together. Always.

A deafening shout startled him out of his protective stupor and into the unmistakable present.

"Who. Is. Rhee." She said each word through clenched teeth, emphasizing each syllable with steadily growing anger. "Answer me!" This part she screamed at him, spittle flying into his face as he flinched way from the furious woman he now knew was his wife. "Who is she?" This she demanded, eyes gleaming with a frightening emotion, mouth twisting into an ugly sneer.

Edward blinked slowly, unsure that he'd heard her correctly, though she'd screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Rhee? He didn't know a Rhee. At least, he didn't think he knew a Rhee. He cast through his memories, searching for anyone with that name. And he drew a complete blank. He looked up tiredly, positive that his wife wasn't going to like his answer. He took a slow breath, fortifying himself for the new pains and injuries to come, before slurring a raspy, halting reply.

"Don'...know...who..." A hard slap across his face interrupted him, bursting open his bottom lip as his jaw began to swell. Her fingers dug into his skin, small wells of blood seeping into her nails before dripping down his chest and back. He bit back a yelp as he was hauled upwards roughly, skin around his right shoulder stretching painfully, almost tearing, while a shooting pain reminded him of his injured ribcage. With unexpected strength, she flung him against a nearby crate and stood threateningly over him.

"Tell the truth. Who is this slut? Who was so _special_ that you went and forgot all about us? Tell me!"

With every other word a swift backhand sent him reeling, teeth clashing together jarringly as crimson spattered against either side of him. He took the beating silently,biting back an irrational desire to laugh in the crazed woman's face. Answer her? Tell her? He already had. It wasn't his fault if she didn't believe him. The impulse only strengthened when he realized that even if he did try to speak, he'd only bite his own tongue off. The stupid woman was making her own order an impossibility.

The blows slowed before stopping completely. She stood over him, chest heaving, hands decorated with a sprinkling of his blood, eyes bulging with extreme emotion. Brown met amber, and he couldn't help himself. Couldn't resist the temptation any longer. Those comically popping eyes finally took him over the edge. Despite the fact that he was being beaten for information about someone he didn't know, not caring about the fluid that dribbled and bubbled from his sagging mouth, ignoring the aftershocks of force that still traveled along his misshapen jaw and formed tears in the corners of his eyes...Edward giggled.

It began slowly, quietly, unnoticeable to anyone but himself. It merely looked like he was having trouble breathing again. And that was probably because he was. Having a laughing fit right after having the air knocked out of him a few times, especially when he'd had such trouble breathing earlier, really wasn't his best idea. But he didn't care. He grew louder, hysterical peals erupting from deep within his chest and echoing ominously around the room, crates, piles of baggage, and high walls magnifying it many times over. He convulsed as his mouth twitched upwards into the slightest of smirks, tears rolling down his battered face. And though his ribs begged for rest, though his body sang with unbearable tension as it heaved and twitched, Edward only laughed harder.

It was a terrible thing to behold, this unreasonable outbreak of glee. He gurgled and choked, hollow bursts of dark amusement spewing wetly from his mouth, leaving rust-colored reminders dripping from his lips to coat his blistered neck. Wide, over-bright orbs glinted as they bore into the molten eyes that were finally at his level. Nails already soaked with blood punctured through the thin clots forming on his torso and dug in deeper than before, widening the freshly oozing holes in his skin. And a voice, cold, steady, and cruel. A voice that pierced through his jumbled mind and silenced his harsh guffaws. A voice that promised indescribable pain. A voice beyond reason. A voice that belonged to his wife.

"So. You think something's funny, Eddie? Care to let me in on the joke? But, oh...I've just remembered. I am the joke. _Poor_ , _stupid_ Arabela. Staying faithful, waiting for her _true love_ to return to her for _fourteen years_. _Ignorant_ , _heartbroken_ Arabela. She didn't know that her love had been lying to her all along. That he'd been living with a hussy, having the _time of his life_ , while she...she was _all alone_.

"What a riot. What a _delightful_ game to play. You like games, don't you, Eddie. I do too. So why don't we play one, hmm? And since I know you have _such_ a bad memory, I'll make sure you _never_ forget me again. Yes. Let's play a memory game. We'll have such fun, Eddie. It'll be an absolute _scream_."

She pulled her fingers out of him with a sickening squelch, watching with cold indifference as Edward toppled onto his side, whimpering slightly as the force of the fall drove the automail into his side, printing its design in bright red against his skin. She left him there, trying to curl into himself and racking his brain desperately for a way out. He couldn't think of anything, couldn't move well enough to escape, didn't have the strength to fight back, and he was running out of time.

 _Think faster, think harder, figure it out, hurry, hurry, think, something, anything, too late, no, no, no_!

She dropped a box full of metal tools in front of him, taking the time to pull out each and every object as she explained the rules to their little game.

"Are you ready to have some fun, honey? Let's see. I suppose I'll have to explain the rules, now won't I. It's very simple, Eddie. I ask you a question and you answer. If you get it wrong or don't answer at all, you'll get a point. If you do manage to get the question right, I get a point. See these, Eddie? They're our points. I only found five of them, but I think that they'll be just enough to use in our game. There will be four questions and a tie-breaker, if necessary. Somehow, I don't think it will be. The person with the fewest points wins the 'grand prize'. Good luck, honey. You'll need it."

She pulled the first 'point' out of the small pile in front of her, rolling it between her palms as she thought of the first question. She paused and tilted her head with a razor smile.

"Let's start with something simple, hmm? Pay attention, I'm only going to ask once. What's my name? _My_ name. None of this 'Mrs. Edison Curtis' business. You have one minute to think it over. Hurry, Eddie. The clock's ticking."

Edward closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to remember her name. He knew he'd heard it before. She'd just said it, not so long ago...What was it? Come on...think. He knew this. He had to know this. It was 'Ar' something...Ara...Arabelle...No, that wasn't it. Close, but not it...Arabela! He sagged with relief and opened his eyes before gasping out her name. She stopped twirling the sharp length of rusty metal between her palms and searched his face, as if she was expecting something more. Edward eyed the spike uneasily, fervently hoping that his answer was correct. She smiled and reached for the five pound sledgehammer. Edward paled.

"Sorry, Eddie. I gave you enough time to finish that answer, but since you didn't...you've earned yourself a point. But before we get to that, I suppose I'll have to remind you what my name is. Arabela _Curtis_. Really, Eddie. We are married, after all. _Do_ try to keep up. Hold still, now. We don't want anything...unfortunate to happen."

She grabbed his automail arm in an iron grip and pulled him roughly into a sitting position. She trapped his metal bicep against the crate with her hip as she looked for the best place to deliver his 'point'. Edward struggled weakly, cursing his inability to put up a good fight, before Arabela smacked his temple with the butt end of the hammer. He went limp for a moment and she took full advantage of the opening. She held the large nail against his elbow, tilted at just the right angle to pass through the tough, flexible casing and out its back on the opposite side, completely missing the protective metal plating. As soon as she was sure of her angle, she raised the sledgehammer over her head and brought it down with crushing force.

A screeching howl exploded from Edward's raw throat as he slid to the ground, writhing in agony as the spike tore into his arm, ripping apart the casing with an appalling crunch. Black liquid erupted from the puncture wound as he fought to get himself upright again, desperate to take the unbelievable strain off the impaled limb. The skin around his port bled sluggishly, torn open by the unyielding metal during his violent struggle. He heaved, vomiting on himself for the second time that day, and pushed himself clumsily upwards, finally managing to get back into a sitting position.

His nerve endings screamed as they broadcast the state of the many complex wires that made up his arm. The hot oil had partially melted the thin rubber coating from the wires closest to the lubrication vein, rendering several of his finer motor skills useless and transmitting a loop of searing pain. Other wires were loose or sparking and emitting an extremely unpleasant prickling, numbing sensation. And with the insulating fluid spatter coating his inner circuitry, each and every compromised wire would be a real problem. If he so much as _twitched_ the wrong way, he'd short out his entire arm by electrocution. He might even lose a few nerves in the process, something that could prevent him from using automail ever again. He ground out a curse, panting from exertion and nearly incoherent with pain. He slumped and clenched his teeth, breath hitching as he tried to keep from making any movements that could compromise his arm further. Head lolling against the crate, he gazed wearily at the smug brunette.

"So, Eddie. How do you like our little game so far? Having fun yet? You know...you look a little upset. Are you tired of playing already? Oh, now that's just too bad. We're just getting started. Well, there's no use dragging this out since you're so _eager_ to finish up. Here comes question number two. This one's a bit tougher, so listen up. How did we first meet?"

Edward stared at her dully. There was no way he could give her the answer she wanted. He couldn't even think of a plausible lie to tell her. So he settled on the truth. Might as well accept his punishment and move on to a question he might actually have a chance at guessing. He spoke slowly, pausing for breath between every few syllables, steeling himself for the pain to come and reinforcing his resolve to _stay still_ , no matter what.

"I woke up...and you...were there."

She scowled and picked up another rusty nail.

"Not quite. Must I tell you _everything_? Our fathers introduced us shortly after I moved to this country. Remember now? No? Hmm. What a pity. Have another point, _honey_."

She took his flesh arm and felt carefully along his forearm, searching for the hollow that existed between his bones. After a moment or two, she smiled in cruel satisfaction and marked her place with a slow kiss, leaving a bright ring of red. She stretched his arm to its full length. Her mouth tightened with concentration as she positioned him just so, twitching into a satisfied smirk when she'd arranged him to her liking. She thrust her hip into the crook of his elbow, thoroughly pinning his limb, before placing the old, discolored stake in the center of her target. She adjusted her grip on the sledgehammer and swung at the nail.

Edward clamped his eyes shut and tensed, waiting for the wave of unbearable pain he knew was coming. Instead, there was a quiet snicker. He peeked out from under his eyelids before staring incredulously at Arabela. She'd stopped the hammer just before it drove the spike deep into his skin and was pulling faces at him. Breaking into another round of mocking laughter, she playfully twirled her weapon.

"You should have seen your face, Eddie! Oh, that was absolutely marvelous! Who knew you could have this much fun playing a memory game. You're just too much, honey. In fact, I've almost decided to let us keep you after all. Hold still now, _this_ one's for real."

She spoke the last sentence quickly, and before Edward could prepare himself, she smashed the rusty spike through his arm. He threw his head back and shrieked, fighting to keep himself completely still as dark crimson sprayed from his arm, spattering across white satin and dripping from the hammer head in the most macabre of ways.

Pulsating blackness crept across his vision, every ounce of his being craving the refuge of insensibility. But he didn't dare give in to that most enticing of states. He forced his eyes open as he held to consciousness by a thread. He inhaled harshly through his mouth, air scraping past his parched throat to inflate exhausted lungs. His head was a throbbing mass of useless matter, overwhelmed with too many signals, too much pain.

He couldn't see, couldn't hear over the pounding tattoo of his heart and wavering shrills, but his other senses worked far too well. The tang of copper and acidic bile lingered on his tongue. The metallic odor of fresh blood, the greasy smell of cooling oil, the repulsive stench of unwashed human and half-digested food. But the things he felt! That alone was enough to make anyone long for oblivion. The uneven grain and needle-like slivers of wood, poking sharply against exposed flesh. The stickiness of drying gore caked over his neck, his chin, here and there on his chest, pulling the skin painfully tight in the suddenly much colder air. The aching tautness of bruises just beginning to show. Powerful vibrations traveling along his arm, splintering bone and ravaging muscle. The icy wrongness of roughened metal chafing exposed membranes. Blood rushing through his veins and past the foreign object, some sloshing out around its edges, the rest carrying loose flakes of corroded iron away to wreak havoc on his weakening body.

In an unconscious effort to push away his pain, he found himself adding to the unmanageable tangle of his perceptions. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he bit down savagely with a fleshy crunch. And then, the unexpected. A brief moment of relative clarity. He worked his jaw back and forth, grinding ivory further into his lip, widening the stream of warm fluid that snaked down his body to merge with a growing pool of liquid below him. He nearly sobbed with relief as the jumble of sensations faded into a hazy fog, masked by his newest hurt but ever ready to overtake him.

The room gradually came back into focus, darkness receding as Edward continued to pulverize his bottom lip. He blinked listlessly, eyes wandering for several moments before they registered the striking figure of the woman crouching in front of him and locked on to her form. Or perhaps more accurately, her starkly contrasting apparel. So captivating, so hauntingly beautiful. Twisting vines of ebony, stretching away from the perfect sable flower resting against her breast, blooming against pale white, a bewitching maze that led his drooping eyes downwards. And there, a stunning pattern of vivid color climbing the threads of smooth satin where they so softly touched the floor. He watched the brilliant shade of cherry spread upwards, mesmerized by its ever-changing pigment, always losing intensity. Cherry faded to scarlet, scarlet dulled to crimson, crimson dimmed to burgundy, and that too tarnished. What once dazzled his eye with resplendent color now repelled him, reminding him only of rust and ruin.

Edward let his head fall forward and closed his eyes, feeling tired, so very tired. Sleep...sounded so welcoming. But it was an impossibility. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. But he would take what rest he could get, enjoy this reprieve while it lasted. Because he knew with a terrible certainty that the games were just beginning.

Just beginning...perhaps that was an exaggeration. Four questions, she'd said. How many had he answered so far? ...Two. Only two. But at least...at least it was halfway over. And if he failed to answer the next question correctly-a very real possibility-maybe, just maybe, she would end the game early. He could make it through one more question. He could...He had to. Cool fingers tipped his face gently upwards, and a voice, soft with what he could almost imagine was compassion, called him.

"Eddie? I tire of this game and you look...well, frankly you look terrible. It's time for your third question, honey. Please...for all our sakes...answer it. Eddie...who is Rhee?"

He opened his eyes and searched his wife's subdued face. Drops of his blood flecked her face, making her truly terrible to behold. Her hair had lost its curl and hung limply around her face while the flower she'd been so proud of dangled precariously from its ribbon. Ruby lips trembled as tears filled chestnut eyes.

He thought carefully, taking full advantage of the fact that he hadn't been given a time limit. Rhee. Why did _she_ have to come up again? She'd started all this. Why couldn't Arablela just accept that he didn't know this girl? He'd search his memories again, but if he couldn't remember anything new, he'd just have to make something up.

He probed through his foggy mind, trying his best to name every female he'd ever known...his mother, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Teacher, Granny Pinako, Rose, Win...Ugh, he was such an idiot! Rhee, Rhee was Winry. She had to be. That was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.

He stared into his wife's eyes with grim curiosity. Why did she want to know about Winry? She didn't honestly expect him to betray one of his closest friends, did she? There was no way that was going to happen. But wait...if she was asking him about Winry...She might be safe after all. Good. All he had to do was make sure she stayed that way. It was time for some evasive answers. Edward took a shuddering breath as he opened his mouth just a crack, wincing as his teeth slid out of the ever-widening gashes on his lips with an eruption of blood, jaw throbbing in protest.

"Jus'...my 'chanic...No'...impor'ant."

Arabela's eyes narrowed, a tear slipping down her face, smearing blood and rouge. Her voice was quiet and bitter as she reached for another point.

"You're lying. You love her. I can tell. I told you not to lie to me. Why didn't you listen to me? Now look what you've done. I have to give you another point. Sorry, Eddie. But maybe...maybe now you won't lie to me anymore."

She stood and backed away a few steps before laying her sledgehammer and the third point on the ground. She straightened once more and returned to Edward, stopping just in front of his splayed legs. She stooped and grabbed his ankles before backing up, forcing his legs to fully extend straight out in front of him. She dropped his heavy left leg and reached just behind her, grabbing the corroded spike once more. Twisting his right foot to the side, fully exposing his ankle, she placed the tip of the large nail in the hollow just behind the knobby bone. She released her hold on his lower leg and twisted to retrieve the hammer. She knelt before him, dripping hammer resting against the head of the spike, pressing it painfully into his tender skin. She drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes, allowing more salty drops to smear the mixture of reds on her cheeks before falling to splatter across flesh, satin, and wood.

Edward watched as she flung her arm into the air, waited for it to descend, resigned himself to the debilitating agony. He thought he could handle the pain, hoped he could, was determined to push through it, just as he had with every other injury so far. The hammer fell. Edward had been convinced he could handle it. Now he knew that he'd been dead wrong.

The nail punched through his skin with a fleshy crunch, just as expected. Splintered bone, ripped apart skin and membrane, just as expected. But it also did some very _unexpected_ things. A deafening snap resonated through the room and Edward's leg thrashed against the metal spike, setting off a chain reaction he never could have prepared for.

Wounds just beginning to clot were torn open, spewing gore onto the floor, spreading outwards to drip...splash far below him. Shock-waves of movement flowed up his flailing lower limb, provoking his torso into a complex set of paroxysms. Violent movements jostled his automail, causing two loose wires to brush together in one sudden, sparking moment. Electricity jumped from wire to wire, melting away the rest of the flimsy rubber and causing the dark lubricant coating his circuitry to burst explosively into flames. The outer shell of his arm soaked in the heat, effectively creating a make-shift oven that roasted the skin surrounding his port. The electrical surge died out, unable to spread to the rest of his body due to the insulating yet extremely flammable oil. His other arm joined in the convulsions of his body, widening the hole around the rusted spike, shredding the flesh of his blood-encrusted forearm.

He thrashed and heaved, body a seething mass of suffering beyond comprehension. Everything was a terrifying reddish hue, closing in on him, cornering him, leaving him in torment alone-all alone. There was an ungodly noise piercing his ears, threatening to rupture his eardrums. A chilling screech that couldn't possibly have come from a human throat. A terrifying shriek that echoed around the room, growing louder, louder, louder, higher, higher, higher, until it broke, the tortured throat that gave it life unable to sustain it any longer. And with one last shuddering jerk, Edward knew no more.


	7. The Help

Lightly crunching footsteps and drawn-out yawns were swallowed by a thick blanket of snow and ice. Clouds of frosted air puffed steadily into the still atmosphere, leaving a trail of crystallized breath that lingered for just a moment before breaking apart, shattered by the rough woolen fabric of a surprisingly warm winter coat.

This particular coat wasn't remarkable in any way. Its worn, brown material was tightly woven, but chafed exposed skin. It was neither fashionable nor comfortable, but it was certainly just as serviceable. At first glance, the person wearing this coat was just as ordinary, if a bit shorter than average. But if one watched closely enough, one would begin to notice that there was something...different about the bulky, ragged figure.

Perhaps it was the way she moved, stepping confidently on ice, never losing her balance. Maybe it was the paradox of meticulously manicured nails clutching an old, greasy paper bag. But then again, maybe it was the grimy hat, tilted forward to hide as much of her face as possible. Or it could be the faint ping of metal against metal, so quiet that one couldn't be sure it was really there.

But of course, the only way one could notice such things about someone else was if one was present. And naturally, no one was. So the stranger walked on unobserved and unquestioned until she reached a snowbound neighborhood of painfully identical houses. There she paused and looked around before continuing on, silently counting off each dwelling until she reached the fourth house on the left, just two lots away from the end of the street.

She glanced around once more before boldly crossing the ice encrusted lawn. After coming to a stop in front of the frosted door, she twisted the brass doorknob and seemed unsurprised when it proved to be locked. Thrusting a small hand into the depths of her woolen coat, she withdrew a gently clinking roll of cloth and knelt in front of the door. The greasy bag was set aside with a muffled thump as the bolt of fabric was placed squarely in front of the crouching woman.

With a flick of a wrist, the cloth unfurled to reveal a gleaming set of lock picks. Deft fingers skimmed across smooth steel, scarcely pausing as they slipped torsion wrench and hook pick from their respective pockets. The thin blade of the wrench slid into the battered lock, twisting ever so slightly as practiced hands angled the crook-necked pick into the entrance and probed gently, counting each pin that pushed against the metal tool. Three...four...five. More exploratory prodding...a steady increase of pressure from the pin...and the pressure disappeared as the key pin settled into place with a soft click. The fifth pin was set.

The fourth, third, and second pins were easily set, taking no more than twenty seconds each. The first pin was a bit more difficult, but at the forty second mark it gave way with a satisfying click. She turned the torsion wrench until the plug of the lock revolved completely around and opened the door just a crack.

A hand slipped behind the door and a knee was planted firmly against its front, ensuring that it was secure in its position. Her other hand freed the blade of the wrench, and after recovering the hook pick from the tight space between door and right palm, slid each tool back into its pouch.

That same hand retreated into the bulky overcoat to withdraw two tiny glass vials filled with a dark honey colored substance. She brought the tubes to her mouth and bit down gently on the cork stopper shoved into the first vial. A few twists, a careful pull, and the cork popped out of its delicate container. Liquid sloshed up the sides of the glass, but a steady hand kept the fluid contained as it made the short journey to hover over a grungy hinge. The vial tipped and thin oil darkened banded metal, washing away flecks of rust and dirt as it worked into the cracks of the tightly joined mechanism. The slender tube was brought back to her mouth and the cork stopper was maneuvered back into place using teeth and tongue. Her hand fell away and with great concentration, she shifted into a crouch.

With carefully controlled movements and cautious maneuvering, she managed to shift into a standing position without moving the door. Her left hand, still holding both vials, rose to her lips once more and the second vial was unsealed. A short arm stretched to the top corner of the door, vial firmly in her grasp as fluid threatened to spill over its sides, but the hinge was just out of her reach. It took unerring balance and pain-staking effort, but with the added height of standing on the balls of her feet, she managed to dump the tube's contents over the remaining filthy hinge while keeping the door perfectly still.

She lowered herself, shifting to the flats of her feet. She slipped her right hand out from behind the door and took a small step away from it, heaving a soft sigh of relief. She spat the cork stopper into her newly freed right hand and firmly resealed the second cylinder. The empty tubes were tucked away once more and the woman knelt to straighten her lock pick set. Once every gleaming steel tool was adjusted _just so_ , she wound the pocket lined cloth back into a tight roll and stuffed it into a spacious pouch just inside the itchy coat. Work done, tools neatly away, and greasy bag back in hand, she pushed the door open all the way, wincing at the momentary squeak of metal, and entered the house with brazen attitude.

The house was furnished well, but was obviously lacking a feminine touch. The hardwood floors were scuffed and the walls were an ordinary eggshell white. A small bookcase was filled with folders and ragged paperbacks. A large pair of boots were tossed carelessly in a corner, sitting in a puddle of water. A low coffee table covered with loose papers, maps, and half-finished notes rested atop a maroon rug, beside of which there was a near-empty bottle of alcohol. The furniture was large and comfortable, overstuffed chairs and a long, plush leather couch took up most of the room. And on the couch was the final confirmation that this was indeed a bachelor's place of residence- a raucously snoring slab of half-clothed man.

She stalked over to the coffee table and set the greasy bag down with a muffled thump, scattering papers everywhere. She then circled the table and came to a stop by the handle of the sofa, right beside the dark-haired man's head. She bent down and whispered softly into his ear.

"Good morning, Roy-boy."

The bulky figure turned on her heel and clambered on top of the handle with grace not expected from a person of her apparent girth. She flexed her knees and jumped high into the air, squealing just before she landed.

"Time to wake up!"

* * *

A screech and the simultaneous impact of two thick-soled boots into Roy's soft, unprotected middle threw him into overdrive. As the air whooshed out of his lungs, his eyes flew open and his body jerked upright, reacting on instinct coupled with years of training. His attacker was catapulted into the air from the force of his violent movement, grimy hat falling away to reveal a mess of bronze hair. Her back hit the wall with a muffled thud and she slid headfirst to the floor, swearing breathlessly all the while. Roy vaulted over the handle of the couch, pulling oxygen in as quickly and calmly as possible into his emptied lungs, orders memorized long ago echoing in his mind.

_Female assassin. Get in close, use your greater weight and height against her. Shut out all noise. Don't let her distract you. Have no mercy, you will receive none. Subdue and question assassin if possible. Survive at all costs._

His eyes were cold and the world was silent as he withdrew further into himself. He held the woman's shoulder down with one hand and pulled back a fist, wanting to end the fight before it began. Slender legs wrapped around his upper torso and hips twisted sideways, throwing him roughly to the floor, knocking away his breath once again.

The smaller form released its awkward hold and scrabbled against the wooden floor, desperate to regain her footing and put distance between the two of them. His arm shot out and caught her by the ankle. He pulled hard, sending her back to the ground in a clatter as he launched himself across the room.

He landed atop her struggling form and forced her to turn over. Her mouth was moving and he was dimly aware of noise pounding against his mental barriers. She squirmed beneath him, twisting and writhing, forcing him to constantly adjust his hold on the quicker, more agile form.

She managed to get a knee past his guard. His grasp loosened for a moment, allowing her to roll away from him, only to hit the coffee table with a thump.

Roy grabbed her leg once more and began hauling her towards him. She reached desperately, seeking anything to use as a weapon. Her hand clamped around the thin neck of a bottle. She contorted, folding herself in half and turning at the hips to face him, taking advantage of the extra momentum he'd unwittingly allowed her. Her arm snapped forward and the bottle smashed into his skull, covering him in stinging alcohol, blood trickling down the side of his face as he collapsed.

She tore her legs out of his pitifully weak hold and jumped onto his unguarded back. Arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Legs forced their way around him, locking into place as he tried to regain his bearings and rid himself of his adversary at the same time.

His thoughts were unfocused, his concentration shattered. He became aware that his attacker was screaming into his ear.

"Roy, you _idiot_! What is _wrong_ with you? Stop struggling!"

These words were interspersed by several rather creative curses. He was pretty sure most of them were physically impossible. One in particular featuring a basket of figs, several mice, and a bullfrog caught his attention and allowed him to finally identify his opponent.

He gaped for a moment, face turning an interesting shade of red. He stopped moving and sputtered, refusing to believe that she was actually there. In his house. On top of him. On top of him, inside his locked house while he'd been trying his best to kill her. Or at least subdue her in an extremely brutal fashion. He swore impressively and renewed his attempts to escape her tight hold.

" _Vanessa?_ What are you _doing_ here? _Get off!"_

Roy pitched himself to the ground again, noting with satisfaction that his passenger had been flung from his back in a graceless tumble. He propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the pouting female sprawled on the floor in front of him.

"Finally, he comes to his senses! What was that all about? Going off like that, just because I woke you up!"

"What was-! What do you think that was about! You pounce on me in the middle of the night and expect me to just lie there and take it? You should know better! I'm in the military, and a war vet besides. We don't take kindly to being _attacked in our sleep_. You're lucky I didn't kill you."

"Hmph. As if- you could barely keep up with me. Need I remind you who was on top of whom?"

"I- you- that doesn't matter! Just...just drop it. This is getting us nowhere. First things first. How did you get in without waking me up? Why are you even here? And...what are you _wearing_?"

Vanessa huffed and pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her backside before offering Roy a helping hand.

"Curious as always, Roy-boy. Guess you haven't changed much after all. Come on, I'll fill you in while we get cleaned up. Move it. You're dripping on the floor."

She pulled him into the kitchen and shoved him into a chair. She grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and filled it with ice before pushing it into his hands. He held it against his head gingerly, watching with bemusement as she stalked towards the bathroom. She returned a few moments later with an armful of gauze and ointment. Still ignoring his questioning gaze, she dropped her burden onto a nearby counter with an exasperated sigh.

"I guess we might as well get it over with. Besides, this coat is so _itchy_."

She began to unbutton the bulky garment, easily tuning out Roy's curious murmurs. When the last button was undone, she let the heavy coat slide off her arms and fall to the floor with a smug smile.

Dark purple cloth accented by the occasional dull black band seized his attention, hugging each of her curves in a most becoming way. The material gave easily and the dress had a slit on each side that reached up to the middle of her thigh, allowing more mobility than one would expect. The neckline was ridiculously low, presenting a scandalous view of contoured flesh that had captivated many an unfortunate male. The sleeves were attached to the rest of the dress with the barest strip of cloth, baring skin stretched tight over lean muscle and gracefully sloping bone. They clung to her shapely arms until they flared slightly at the wrist, drawing eyes to a delicately pampered hand, one that suggested the softest of touches. A dress designed to ensnare a man while still affording freedom of movement. A dress that broadcast her occupation to anyone the least bit familiar with the shadier side of Amestris.

But if Vanessa's dress promised pleasure, the discreet leather straps stretching across her torso hid an array of tools that indicated something very different. The complicated array of black bands formed an intricate harness that curved under her breasts, around her waist, and just below the thickest part of each rounded hip, further emphasizing her curves to draw attention away from hidden sheaths and concealed pockets. Simple throwing knives lay flat against her waistband, hilts pointed towards the center of her body for easy access. A slightly larger knife was strapped to the outside of her hip, thin blade and cloth-wrapped hilt barely visible against darker leather. An assortment of tiny bottles in protective leather casing and little burlap bundles, all filled with substances known only to Vanessa and her employer, rested against the strap wrapping underneath her breasts.

Harness, dress, the alluring figure of a woman in full bloom. They painted an intimidating picture. That of a predatory creature that drew in its prey with a sweet promise and a passionate gaze, only to take what it wanted and move on to its next unsuspecting victim. It was an enticing paradox; pleasure and pain bound into a feminine package that begged to be opened with roaming eyes, grasping hands, and lust-filled words. A paradox that Roy was intimately familiar with.

He appraised her with raised eyebrows, noting each detail with care. He took the time to find each of her hidden weapons and plan a thousand different ways to use them, a hundred ways they could be used against her, and several better ways to arrange them all. He thought briefly about showing her one or two of them, but let out a barking laugh instead. He leaned back in his chair, pressing his towel against the sluggishly bleeding head wound, mentally berating himself for spending his time in such a frivolous manner. There were much more important things to think about than how to defeat an ally. His charcoal eyes flicked up to Vanessa's irritated blue.

"So. You're Mamma's new favorite. Guess I should have seen that one coming. You're being careful, I hope?"

"Of course. Why else would I bother with the disguise?"

"Well, that explains the clothes, I suppose. And if you really are her favorite, you probably just walked in through the door. ...You didn't mess with the hinges, did you?"

"I oiled them up a bit. Why?"

Roy swore.

"Do you have _any_ idea how long it took me to tune those things? I had them calibrated for the precise pitch and decibel level needed to be heard from anywhere within three blocks! It took me months. _Months_ , Vanessa!"

"I'm sure your neighbors will be thrilled."

"Burn it all, Vanessa! This isn't funny! How am I supposed to know if someone's breaking in? I'm a _State Alchemist_. Worse, I'm the _Hero of Ishval_. I'm not exactly the most popular guy around. There are people who would give anything to get their hands on me!"

"Uh-huh. And a squeaky door with a pathetic excuse for a lock was supposed to stop them?"

"Yes! ...No. Look, it was better than nothing."

"If you're that worried about it, I'll have one of the girls rig something up for you. It'll take us a day at the most, so don't worry about it. I doubt you can get yourself into trouble that quickly."

"Normally I'd agree with you, but with circumstances as they are I can't afford to take that chance."

"Something happen that I should know about?"

"...I think I just found a job for you and the girls. I'll give you the details later. For now, let's just focus on getting cleaned up."

"Fine. Put that towel down. I need to see what I'm working with. Mm. Could be worse. At least you won't need stitches. You'll need to get all that blood out of your hair before I can bandage it, though. But first let's get those clothes off. I need to make sure your head is the only thing I have to take care of. Besides, I don't feel like smelling alcohol I can't drink."

Roy gave her a stoic look and thrust the makeshift ice pack into her outstretched hand. He stood, peeling his threadbare, tattered undershirt away from the skin it clung to, hissing quietly when he brought his arms over his head. He threw the damp shirt into Vanessa's face, smirking as pale blue eyes betrayed amusement despite loud protests. She too stood, shaking off the discarded clothing and tossing it down the nearby hall before coming back to face him. She took a long considering look at his body before motioning him to turn for her. A few prods and mumbles later, she shook her head in dissatisfaction.

"I can't tell too much right now. You'll have to test your body out for yourself. Let me know if anything feels like it needs to be kept still. Go ahead and take a shower. I'll patch your head up when you get out."

Roy grunted an agreement and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He opened the closet door and pulled out a fresh uniform, draping it over his arm. He also grabbed a clean black shirt with a fresh pair of boxers from a shelf just inside the door. He walked back down the hall and set his clothes down in the bathroom. Leaning over to shut the door, he seemed to remember something.

"Vanessa?"

"What?"

"There are some clothes that should fit you in the guest room. Feel free to change out of that contraption and into something more comfortable. There should be a few dresses somewhere in there."

"...Roy? You don't play dress-up anymore, right?"

"Wha-? Of course not! Mamma sent those over in case any of you needed to lay low for a while."

"Oh. That's a relief. For a minute there, I thought we'd scarred you for life."

Roy snorted and shut the door with a click. He turned the faucets in the shower on, letting the water get nice and hot while he surveyed himself in the mirror. The gash on his head looked garish, but that was mostly because it was crusted over with blood. It wasn't nearly as bad as it looked. Of course, that didn't change the fact that he had a massive headache. He'd have to take some aspirin before too long.

Twisting from side to side, he tested his range of motion while trying to get a glimpse at his back. He winced at the sight of a spreading bruise on his lower back. That was going to be sore in a few hours. Aspirin was sounding like a better idea all the time. He moved his arms around, gauging how far he could move them before the pain kicked in. Ah. No higher than straight out in front of him. He'd probably hurt one of his shoulder muscles during a fall. That wasn't so bad. Thankfully, he didn't need to lift them up that high very often. Good thing he was taller than Fullmetal.

The flippant thought caught him off guard, immediately souring his mood. Fullmetal was missing, more than likely in need of serious help, and here he was complaining about a few bumps and bruises. Unacceptable. He was a commanding officer, and one of his troops had disappeared on his watch. He didn't have time for this. Fullmetal didn't have time for this.

Roy yanked his boxers off, clenching his teeth and refusing to acknowledge the twinge of pain that accompanied his brusque actions. Snatching a washcloth from the towel rack, he stomped into the steaming shower. He ground a yellowed cake of soap into the fabric and began washing the sticky mixture of blood and alcohol off of his body. He scrubbed his skin harshly, ignoring the bone-deep ache of pressure against bruised flesh. Skin already pinked from scalding water reddened further, darkening to a mottled crimson, interrupted by the occasional patch of blackening flesh. His body cleansed to his satisfaction, he tossed aside the soapy rag and ran stiff fingers through his dripping hair.

Most of the blood had been washed out by the blistering spray, but other clumps stuck stubbornly to the strands, melding them to the jagged cut. Roy firmed his jaw, closing his eyes for but a moment before ripping the knotted hair away. His breath caught as the wound reopened and began to drip blood down his face once more, blending with raw skin. He kneaded the shock of crust-covered strands until he felt the last of the dried material crumble away. He ran his fingers through his ebony locks again, tilting his head back slightly to keep equally dark blood out of his freshly cleaned hair. When he was certain each strand was completely freed of blood, he plastered them all against his skull, careful to keep the area around the gash free of hair. He rinsed blood from his body once more and stepped out of the shower, immediately knotting a towel tightly around his head to staunch the flow of crimson and keep his hands free.

Skin already rubbed raw was irritated further with hurried swipes of cloth though the flush of his skin was already paling. The towel was tossed aside and softer cloth that clung wetly to chafed skin was forced on. The thicker, more durable uniform jacket soon followed, and within moments was buttoned properly and straightened with a sharp jerk. The bathroom door was flung outwards and a hazy cloud crept into the hall, thick tendrils heavy with moisture groping after the straight backed figure marching sternly away.

Roy moved quickly, but mechanically. Bare feet smacked across wooden planks, obeying the compulsion of ingrained habit as his mind worked furiously at the problem of a certain pint-sized midget who just happened to have the worst luck of anyone he'd ever met. His legs took him into the kitchen and his arm reached out for the cup of coffee that should be waiting for him on the nearest counter. Instead, his fingers met tubes and gauze. An expression of irritated confusion spread across his face and he looked around, only half paying attention to his surroundings. A fresh cup of coffee steaming on the opposite side of the room caught his gaze. He retrieved the mug and exited the room, letting his body go on autopilot once more, never truly registering the slim figure that had skittered backwards when she'd first caught a glimpse of his forbidding expression.

He took a long drink from the heavy mug, frowning slightly at the bitter taste and the scalding liquid skimming across his taste buds. He found himself standing in front of his coffee table, smoking mug in hand, papers scattered across the floor, and a greasy bag in the center of the only map he actually needed. He set the pungent drink down and pushed the oily bag aside, revealing a perfectly circular spot of translucent blankness spreading across his map, erasing entire streets and countless careful notations from existence. He sank to his knees in front of the ruined map, cursing quietly to himself as he ruffled through the piles of paper surrounding him, searching for the extra copy he knew was hidden somewhere in the mass of reports and calculations.

Several minutes passed before he finally found the tracing of the streets around Central's military base. This particular copy wasn't up to date with the current guard postings or shift changes. It did, however, show several plotted escape routes, sewer entrances, and lesser known passages throughout the city. He'd have to remember to thank Mamma and his 'sisters' for the extra work they'd put into this particular drawing. It could prove extremely helpful during his search for Fullmetal.

Roy found a pencil amidst the disorganized spread and began jotting coded notes along the margins of the map, pausing occasionally to check his notes against duty rosters, personnel files, and calculations he'd done the night before. He wrote rapidly, losing himself in the calming tangle of runes, crowding the edges of the faded paper with names, locations, formations, and multiple observations. It wasn't long before every inch of space was filled with hasty symbols and words, forcing him to stop and consider his work thus far. His eyes darted across the page, rereading each notation before grunting in satisfaction and laying the map on top of one of the more organized piles of paper burdening his coffee table.

He hauled himself to his feet, grimacing and placing a fist against his aching lower back. He stretched with a groan and began massaging his hand gently. He hadn't done that much writing in such a short amount of time in quite a while. Riza would have been impressed.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. He spun around, hands twitching apart and falling easily into a loose guard stance as he faced his possible adversary. His blank expression quickly changed to one of deepening confusion as the woman before him took a cautious step towards him.

"Roy? You okay?"

He didn't respond. He only looked even more mystified. She lifted her chosen weapon, both hands gripping the stout handle tightly, ready to attack at his slightest move.

"...Vanessa? Are you threatening me with a frying pan?"

Vanessa heaved a sigh of relief and let the thick skillet fall to her side.

"Don't scare me like that! I thought you were going psycho again. And yes, I was threatening you with a frying pan. Would you have preferred one of my knives? I'd be more than happy to use one of those next time."

Roy thought for a moment before answering, incredulity still stamped across his features.

"I'll pass on the knives, but a frying pan? You really couldn't come up with anything...better to attack me with?"

"You'd be surprised what you can do with one of these. Care for a demonstration, Roy-boy?"

"I don't think so. Somehow, I don't think I'd survive."

She shrugged.

"Your loss. I've got everything ready to fix that thick skull of yours. And we should probably get a move on. Sun's almost up."

He sighed, gazing at one of the few windows in his home. Sure enough, the sky was streaked with pink and gold, warning the world below that the sun would soon ascend. But the sunrise, no matter how beautiful was nothing to celebrate. It was just another reminder that this was the third day since Fullmetal's disappearance. Every day, every hour increased the possibility that Fullmetal- that Edward was beyond their reach forever. Each second that slipped away threatened to drag him into the past, back to the darkest of times. And they whispered as they swirled into oblivion that maybe, just maybe, Edward too was a ghost of the past, existing only in his memory, fragile as it was. Just another military casualty, not even worthy of a mention in the paper.

But he refused to believe that. It was, simply put, an impossibility. The very idea of Edward's demise was absurd. No one so full of hope, of promise and dedication could be brought low so easily. Edward would survive. More importantly, he would continue to _live_. His brother was still waiting after all. As were Winry and so many others. And he was waiting too. Waiting for a steel foot to break down his door, for a petulant voice to interrupt his own, for a wandering child to return to the family he'd never known was his.

"Roy! Snap out of it already. What's _with_ you today?"

"Hm? It's nothing. I was just...thinking. I've been doing that a lot lately."

Vanessa rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the kitchen, scooping up the grease stained paper bag as she followed behind him. Roy let himself be steered into a chair and meekly followed her instructions, tilting his head back and un-knotting the towel that had been tied snugly around his skull. He let the ends of the towel hang, not willing to part cotton fibers and congealed blood until absolutely necessary. A muffled thump and a few murderous expletives later, Vanessa's scowling face came into view.

"Don't move. I swear I'll knock you out if I have to."

Roy glared coldly up at her.

"That won't be necessary. I've had far worse than this."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Vanessa ripped the towel away from his skin without further comment, causing Roy to jerk in his chair and hiss a few choice words between clenched teeth. She lay the bloodied towel on a nearby counter and forced his head back with an irritated snort. She grabbed an open container of dark red powder and poured a heap of it into the bleeding cut, packing it in with firm strokes. Gritting her own teeth as she attempted to ignore Roy's extremely loud protests, she let the powder set for a minute or two, only wiping it away with a dampened cloth when she was sure that it had completely stopped the bleeding. Then she seized a tube filled with ointment, squirted a generous amount onto her palm and began mixing in some of the rust colored powder. The compound coagulated into a thick paste which she smothered over the gash with none too gentle fingers. Still ignoring Roy's continuous stream of unflattering insinuations, she pressed a patch of dense gauze over the wound and taped it down tightly. Roy jerked his head away and lightly fingered the bandage, glaring at his disastrous nurse all the while.

She sniffed and flounced across the room, the skirt of her borrowed dress fluttering wildly around her legs. She grabbed the greasy bag from a small table shoved against the wall and opened it with a huff. She peered into it, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She reached in the sack and pulled out a pale sausage thicker than two of her fingers. She waggled the wurst in the air and threw it to Roy, smirking when he nearly missed the first part of his breakfast. While he was still juggling his sausage from hand to hand, she fished two crusty rolls topped with caraway seeds out and tossed them one after the other in Roy's direction. He grabbed at the rolls without success, only succeeding in bouncing the bread back and forth between his hands. He finally managed to gain possession of both buns and sausage roll and quirked an eyebrow at the increasingly foul-tempered female, coal eyes dancing with restored good humor.

"Is it past your bedtime, dear Vanessa? Perhaps I should put you down for a nap."

"Shut it. You stay up all night and then have your coffee stolen by an ungrateful bastard who doesn't even have the decency to say thanks. Let's see how _peppy_ you are after that."

Roy laughed quietly.

"I may be a bastard, but so are you and half of our other 'sisters.' Well, in any case, I suppose I _should_ thank you. It was good coffee. Nice and strong, just the way it should be."

Vanessa sniffed again and retrieved another roll from the worn paper sack. She demolished it in seconds and washed it down with her own sausage, not bothering to wipe her mouth as oil dripped from the corners of her lips. Roy began eating his own breakfast, a mouthful of bread followed by a bite of wurst, careful to keep his uniform clean. In between swallows, he began to tell her of the job he had for his adopted family.

"I don't have time to tell you everything. I copied most of the details onto a report over there on the coffee table, but they're encrypted. Mamma is the only one who knows that particular code, so you'll have to take it to her before you can get started. This is Code Amber information-it's imperative that the wrong people don't find out about this. Be very careful with your inquiries, but don't be overly cautious. This is a time-sensitive mission. It's extremely important that you find out as much as you can as soon as you can. I'll meet you this afternoon to exchange information. Thirteen hundred hours at the bar on Feldweg. There should be no contact between us until then. If you have information that can't wait, call the office and tell Fuery that you need to speak to me about Elle. Hang up, go straight to the bistro and I'll meet you there as soon as I can. Do not, under any circumstances, pass information over the phone. Do you understand?"

She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips, and yawned loudly before giving him a grumpy look.

"Sure. Class 'A' super secret mission. Could get us all killed. Restraunt at the end of the universe. And Elle is a lucky whore. Did I miss anything?"

Roy's face twisted with distaste.

"I think you've got the gist of it. You might need to take it easy and get some sleep though. Let the other girls handle this one. The way you're acting right now you'd probably scare off all your informants."

"Sleep? Now? Couldn't possibly. Too much caffeine from my coffee earlier. Oh, nevermind. I've just remembered. You drank it all."

Roy cleared his throat uncomfortably and hoisted himself out of his chair. He muttered something about getting ready for work and hurried out of the kitchen. A mouth cleaning, a few pills, and one pointless search for drier boots later, Roy scooped up the papers and maps he needed from the coffee table and surrounding floor and was on his way to Central Headquarters.

Icy wind knifed through his thick uniform, stealing away his warmth and urging him faster down the snow-slicked streets. It was a constant struggle to stay upright and keep his papers in order, but he walked forward with confidence in the early morning light. He had a plan for every conceivable situation. There were more trustworthy personnel at his disposal than he'd first thought. The weather was cold and windy, but the skies were clear. And Fullmetal was no doubt driving his captors absolutely insane.

Right about now, he would be screaming his lungs out, waking everyone within five miles of his location, probably with one of his infamous 'short' rants. But then again, a smattering of insults between some of the best swearing they'd heard in a while was equally as likely. Come to think of it, the runt was probably having the most fun he'd had all winter. He'd probably missed the dangerous mixture of fights, accidents, and crime that followed every state alchemist unlucky enough to find himself in Central. Such lively events never happened in Resembool. In fact, since the train station sabotage back in the Ishval war, the most notable thing to happen in Resembool was probably the boys' ill-fated attempt at human transmutation. Of course, such an event was no reason to celebrate, and since the majority of the population had no idea that such a dangerous taboo had been committed, it probably couldn't really be considered 'notable' at all.

Roy exhaled heavily and quickened his pace as much as possible. He couldn't tolerate such sober thoughts this morning. His team was still recovering from the shock of Fullmetal's dissappearance. He had to be calm and in control. He had to remind them that there was no reason to worry. This was Fullmetal, after all. He could handle any two-bit criminal without breaking a sweat. And even if Fullmetal had bitten off more than he could chew, it would end up all right. Because Roy had a plan. Actually, he had several. And not one of them involved Fullmetal dying before Roy got a chance to kill him.

* * *

An hour later, Roy walked through the door of his team's assigned office. He glanced around the room and was pleased to see that he wasn't alone. Hawkeye was perched at her desk, diligently filling out the day's paperwork, pausing after every finished report to look at the clock and check that mysterious schedule of hers. Fuery was sitting on the edge of his seat, fiddling absently with his switchboard and fighting to keep his eyes open. Breda was leaning against Falman's desk, looking through a pile of records and munching away at a pastry stuffed with some sort of jelly. Havoc and Falman hadn't arrived yet.

Roy crossed the room and entered his own office, pretending not to notice the way his subordinates followed every move he made with apprehensive eyes, lingering on the bandage taped across his temple. He set his stack of papers on top of his desk and began sorting them into different piles. He raised his voice, keeping it carefully emotionless.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, a moment, if you please."

There was an instant of silence followed by the muffled scrape of a chair over thin carpet. Crinkling paper covered the sound of her soft footsteps and his back was facing the door, but he knew the precise moment she entered- as he always did.

"Sir?"

She too kept her voice devoid of emotion.

"Notify the outer office that we will have a mission briefing as soon as Officers Havoc and Falman arrive. And instruct Sergeant Major Fuery to take messages from anyone wishing to speak to me. I'm not accepting calls today, but I would like to be notified immediately about any messages concerning 'Elle.' Dismissed."

Her heels clicked together, and he could picture her salute, a proud show of courage and acceptance-a pledge to do her duty above all else. A promise and apology, all in one. His mouth quirked into the tiniest of smiles as he heard her exit the room.

Roy finished sorting the reports into their proper stacks and collapsed into his chair. He relaxed for a moment before sighing and glancing at the tiny clock he kept on his desk. Seven minutes past nine. Havoc and Falman should be arriving soon.

He wondered if he should start filling out paperwork or if he should wait a while longer. He needed to keep his hands busy and his mind engaged while he was waiting for his plans to unfold. Writing up reports fulfilled both needs. But if any of his subordinates saw him working, they might see through the facade of normalcy he and Hawkeye were struggling to maintain. That facade was the only thing keeping the team together, a constant in the uncertainty of recent times. And after yesterday's troubling events, it was already wearing away. They couldn't take the chance that the team would be able to pull through such a crisis without some sort of grounding element, a factor to balance out the volatile equation. The mundane mask he'd crafted so carefully up to this point served this purpose beautifully. It must be preserved. As much as it galled him, he'd have to find something less useful to occupy his mind.

His eyes drifted around the room, lighting on the many personal belongings that were scattered around his office, evaluating the merits of each possible activity as it occurred to him. Perhaps he should practice alchemy while he waited. But no, that was too much like work. He couldn't call anyone either. It might draw unwanted attention if he made outgoing calls, but refused to accept those that were incoming. Maybe he could organize his office. Riza had been after him for weeks to sift through the cardboard boxes still lining the walls of the room. But he wouldn't know where anything was if he actually unpacked everything. Playing chess could be an acceptable pastime. Then again, he usually played chess when he was making plans. That might lead his team to believe that he was still trying to decide the best course of action. An incorrect assumption that could undermine the work he'd done thus far.

Roy sighed heavily, his expression settling into brooding indecision. Give him a life or death situation and he could come up with multiple plans and choose the one with the most desirable results in seconds. Give him a much smaller problem-like how to pass the time without upsetting his subordinates-and he could never decide the best course of action. He stared down at the scratched surface of his desk, brow furrowing as he tried to determine what he should do.

Hawkeye's timely entrance saved him from further counterproductive thoughts.

"Sir, Second Lieutenant Havoc and Warrant Officer Falman have arrived. All squad members are ready for briefing."

"Bring them in."

"Yes, sir."

She stepped out of his view and waved the waiting soldiers into his office. They filed into the room and nervously took their customary places. Roy inspected them as they settled in, noting the uneasy tics each soldier displayed.

Fuery lit on the edge of his seat, tired eyes darting around the room as his leg jittered uneasily. Breda claimed the chair nearest the chessboard, fingering a pawn absent-mindedly and wetting his lips. Falman took the last chair and sat stiffly, jaw tightening every so often, eyes boring a hole through the floor. Havoc propped himself beside the door, eyes half-closed with a hand resting casually on the small-caliber pistol he had tucked next to the waistband of his uniform, sliding it out of its holster and letting it slip back with easy familiarity. Hawkeye followed the group in, shutting the door firmly behind her and taking her usual position just behind her commanding officer, close enough to touch, but never taking the liberty of doing so.

Roy waited until they each met his level gaze before speaking.

"I'm sure you're all aware of this by now, but for propriety's sake I'll start at the beginning. On December 19th, between 1400 and 1800 hours, Major Edward Elric was captured by a currently unidentified couple. We have no way of knowing whether this was an isolated event or if it is evidence of a larger attack on the military itself. Due to our lack of intelligence on this matter, a two man team was dispatched to examine the suspected abduction site. The evidence found indicates that Major Elric was ambushed and drugged. This evidence is solid enough to warrant a thorough search by the Investigations Department. However, due to the...unique situations of Major Elric and his brother, the involvement of the Investigations Department will be kept to a minimum. As such, each of you will be required to take a part in the investigation. Information is to be given out sparingly. All civilians-including Alphonse Elric-are to be kept ignorant of the progression of this case. Extreme caution and combat readiness is suggested."

Here he paused and began handing small stacks of paper out to his subordinates.

"You will be split into three two-men teams. Officers Havoc and Hawkeye will be working in the field. Officers Falman and Fuery will be in charge of research and communications. Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant Breda and myself will be running interference and distributing new intelligence as needed.

"These reports contain all the information you will need to complete your personal duties. Contacts, buzz words, suspects, suspicious activity from the past few days-it's all there. Use it wisely.

"You are to report your progress to Second Lieutenant Breda every hour. Information should be traded at that time. The only exception is if the discovered information is time-sensitive or life-threatening to any member of the team-including Major Elric."

He turned and glared at the frost encrusted window, faint silhouettes of knobby trees swaying across the icy pane of glass.

"You know what to do. Dismissed."

The muted scuffle of chairs and feet was followed by a breath of silence quickly broken by the creak of an opening door and quick steps. A resolute click, and Roy was alone in his office once more. He sighed heavily and brought his hand up to his head, cradling the gently throbbing mass. His eyes shut tightly and swayed on his feet, throwing his free hand out to catch himself against the window. He reopened his eyes, blinking away the dim lights that flashed behind his eyelids. He had work to do.

He pushed himself away from the cold window and entered the outer office. Weary eyes surveyed the empty room as his legs brought him to the desk furthest from his own. He gathered the papers scattered across the worn surface with mechanical efficiency and moved on to the next. He worked his way back to his office, leaving every desk but his own free of paper. He dropped the heavy stack of forms and referrals onto his work surface and stared grimly at the immense pile of tedious documents. He began sorting through the mess, glancing at the handwritten codes in the upper corner of each report before placing it in its designated place.

He worked slowly at first, still shaking off his earlier dizzy spell, but as the minutes passed he fell into an easy rhythm. Grab, glance, reach, place. Grab, glance, reach, place. Naturally, soon after he got his rhythm, he was interrupted by a loud exclamation.

Roy sighed and headed towards the outer office. He pushed the door open and leaned against the frame with crossed arms.

"Problem, Sergeant Major?"

Fuery started and spun around, already saluting.

"Colonel Mustang, sir! The documents on our desks-"

"Have been reassigned to someone with more time and less important duties than the mission you have been given. They will be properly completed and filed by the end of the day."

"Yes, sir. But sir, there were some acquisition requests and-"

"I'm sure they will be handled satisfactorily. Now, unless there's something else, it seems Warrant Officer Falman requires assistance going through those records."

"Y-yes, sir. I'll be sure to assist him."

Roy returned to his office and pulled the door shut behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, listening to muffled voices, the soft beeping of electronics, and the occasional thump of paper against wood. He sighed and returned to his own work.

Things were going well so far. The search for Edward Elric had finally begun and with luck, they would find him before day's end. Roy smirked, rehearsing the blistering speech he'd prepared for the young alchemist. It wouldn't be one the little blond would forget anytime soon. Roy lost himself in the tedious shuffle of documents and the refining of a scathing monologue, not noticing the passing minutes stretching into hours.

A fist pounded against the door of his office, sending his hand streaking across the page of a particularly lengthy security report and scattering the growing stack of completed forms across the carpeted floor. He growled and shoved himself away from the desk, marching across the room to fling open the door, flooring Sergeant Major Fuery in the process.

The excitable man bounced up, wringing his hands, glasses hanging askew, and babbling all the while.

"Sir! We've finally found something on Edison Curtis! Maybe even his family! Youreallyneedtohearthissir!"

Found. Curtis. Really. Roy's expression shifted from annoyed incomprehension to intense anticipation, the barest thread of hope hiding behind dark eyes.

"Show me."

Fuery bounded across the room, dodging boxes of files, chairs strewn across the room, and desks piled high with old newspapers. He snatched a folder from Falman's limp hands and met Roy in the center of the office. He presented the report with pride, happy to finally be able to report real progress with his mission. Never mind that it had been Falman who'd actually read the file. Progress was progress, and progress was meant to be celebrated.

Roy took the battered folder with the beginnings of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth. Fuery's enthusiasm was a promising indicator of what was concealed between the yellowing pages. He flipped open the report and skimmed across the page, eagerly searching for any mention of the Curtis family.

And the slender thread of hope was cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa is from Chapter 62 of the manga and Episode 31 of Brotherhood. She does exist in canon, but she is what I refer to as a 'blow-up' character. We know so little about her and she appears for such a brief period of time that you can fill in any characteristics or whatever back story you want. Vanessa still belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, though- not me.


	8. Away.

Shallow gasps of breath tore from his lungs, sweat dripped from his face, and his heart pounded between his ears, nearly as loud as the deafening clang of heavy metal against unyielding stone. Walls damp with a liquid he feared to identify stretched far above his head to meet with a ceiling unseen.

He didn't know how long he'd been running or what he was running from, but he knew he had to get out _now_.

Away from the nameless dread hounding him through the narrow hall that seemed to last forever. Away from the quiet voice tinged with fear, telling him to breathe, to relax, that everything was going to be fine, to _trust_ them. That voice wasn't to be trusted.

Never again.

Never.

_He wouldn't be fooled._

He sprinted down the dark hallway, finally spotting his escape-a door illuminated dimly by a flickering light. But the walls swelled in size, shoving the door further and further away, creeping closer to him until he was forced to slow down, to drag himself past the walls sideways, clawed fingers coming away sticky with a fluid he didn't care to think about. But still they came closer, pinning him into place. And he couldn't _breathe_ , his heart beat against the wall itself, his ribs groaned, snapping and cracking as they were forced beyond their limits. The pressure, the ungodly pressure! But the door was right there-he could touch it if he just managed to get his arm up. He reached desperately, tacky fingers scrabbling at the dingy brass knob, smearing red over the cold metal.

But it was too late-there was no escape for him now. His skull ached- breaking apart piece by piece. He slammed his eyes shut and screamed- eyes flying open when the pain became too much.

Nothing was as it had seemed.

He felt...disconnected. Everything was _loose_. The pain was still there, but it seemed distant. More than anything, he felt numb.

A woman was holding him tightly, whispering reassurances in his ear, her tears wetting the side of his neck, mixing with the sweat that drenched his body. She was naked and clean-and from the feel of frosty air against his skin, so was he, much to his embarrassment. But then, being clean, or mostly so, was a welcome change. And the feel of her warm flesh against his own was heavenly, his chilled skin soaking in the warmth, but never able to quite shake off the sensation of being much too cold for comfort.

The woman loosened her hold and slid back, wide teary eyes capturing his own, though the sensation of tight restriction around his torso never eased.

"You're awake…You're…finally awake…Oh, Eddie I'm so glad! I was terrified. I thought you…you…What happened? Who did this to you? I'm so sorry that I wasn't there. I…I must have been asleep. I'm so sorry, Eddie! I'm so sorry…" She collapsed against his chest, sobbing once more.

_Eddie_ …He felt a faint prickle of alarm. That name meant something. What was it? He searched his blurred memories for its meaning, the prickle of alarm growing into full-fledged panic as bits and pieces of his past returned to him. Let it be a dream, a nightmare. Let it be anything but real. They hadn't…and he wasn't…but they had and he was. And this… _woman,_ no this _thing,_ was _touching him_.

He tried to scream, to yell, to curse her into oblivion, to _order_ her to _let go_ , to _stop touching_ him, to leave him _alone_ and never, never, _never_ come near him again. But the most he could do was whimper in between ragged breaths. She leapt away from him, hands fluttering anxiously over his still form, finally settling against his face with a whimper of her own.

"I know it hurts, honey. Just let me take care of your arm, and then I'll go find some help. Don't worry, your Bee will fix everything."

Lies. Lie, lie, _lie_. It was a trick. She was trying to gain his trust. He wouldn't give it. She was a destroyer. She could know nothing of _fixing_ things. Her very touch was pain. Help shouldn't hurt, but if it was _her_ , it wouldn't merely _hurt_. It would be agony.

Her hands moved to his left and gripped the metal protruding from his limb. She took a shuddering breath and yanked the rusted length out of the wall, but not out of his arm. A hoarse scream tore at his throat as his body thrashed against her gentle hold. She caught his flailing arm and braced it before ripping the stake free, begging forgiveness all the while. He screamed again.

The room spun sickeningly, blood laced with pus dripped down his arm, and yet it didn't hurt as much as it should. It didn't bleed as much as it should either. Something wasn't right. But his head was swimming too badly to decide what. A soft hand brushed his hair back, prompting him to open eyes he hadn't realized were closed.

"Eddie, I know this is going to hurt, but please try to stay still. I'm doing the best I can. Just hang on a little longer."

He watched her with tired eyes, panting heavily and listening to the erratic drum of his heartbeat, hoping against all the odds that the needle she was threading had nothing to do with him. But that had never helped him before. The odds were never in his favor. And they felt no need to switch sides now.

He whined unhappily, eying the needle with terror as it crept closer to his bleeding arm. He squirmed backwards, trying to get away from the silver menace, his fevered mind vaguely registering that he was already pressed against the wall, that certain aspects of his anatomy had changed. But he couldn't dwell on those revelations, couldn't take the time to be rational about things. The glinting sliver was inching closer to the gaping wound, darting in and out, thread billowing behind. It was trying to stab him, trying to pierce his skin again, to rip past his defenses and into his fragile insides. And then he was confined, unable to scramble away, to defend his bare skin from the threatening metal.

She was on top of him and she was naked and he was naked and she had a needle and he couldn't move and he was screaming and she was screaming and they were both screaming and he didn't know what to do and he panicked and he fought and she wouldn't let go and _it was in his arm_. And it hurt and it was dull and it was tearing his skin and they were still screaming and it hurt and he couldn't think and then it was out, but it was _attached to him_. Get it off, get it off, get it off, away, away, far away from here, in a place where needles were never around to threaten him, where he was safe and happy and warm and had clothes and could move where he wanted, when he wanted. Home. He needed home. He needed...he needed Winry and Alphonse and Teacher and that bastard Colonel because then everything would be fine and he was safe and they would never let the needles get him. But he needed them now and they weren't there so he'd have to find them and the needle was still there and it was inside him again and it was pulling his skin and he couldn't get away from it and he couldn't scream anymore because he couldn't breathe and why weren't they there? Why didn't they save him? They must be angry with him. He'd done something wrong. He was always doing something wrong. He said he was sorry, but the needle, the _needle._ It wouldn't stop and they weren't saving him and he tried to say it louder but they still couldn't hear him or maybe they just weren't listening or maybe they didn't believe him so he said it again and again and why couldn't they believe him? He was sorry, it was all his fault, he'd do anything they wanted, just _make it stop_. And it went on and on and on. In and out, blood and pus, pain and agony, sobs and screams, black and blue and red and pale, pale white.

And it was over and the needle was thrown away, but clumsy knots of black had replaced the tainted gleam of silver, so very dark against the angry red and tired white puckering around the snarl. And she finally, finally stopped touching him and he could move and breathe again, but she was touching him again and talking to him, but she was hoarse and crying, though he couldn't imagine why, and he couldn't hear her words over the thunder of his heart and the grate of air across his sore throat.

And then she was gone. Suddenly and wonderfully gone. He almost couldn't believe that she'd actually left, that he was alone, but he forced himself upright and she was really...truly...gone. He wasn't tied up, he wasn't drugged, everything hurt, but the irritating numbness was allowing him to move with only slight difficulty.

He could leave. Right now. Just get up and walk away. Nothing was stopping him. He was...free. He could go home. He could see Al and Winry and _everyone_ , and it would all be just the way it had always been. No needles, no monster-wife, no _Bee_ to sting him and drug him and hurt him. Home. _Paradise_.

He laughed at the thought. He had nothing to lose and he was already halfway up. He just needed to finish the job. He tried to lever himself upright and abruptly realized what his mind had tried to bring to his attention so long ago. His other arm was...missing. It simply wasn't where it was supposed to be. He stared at his shoulder blankly. How strange. His automail didn't usually disappear without warning. He couldn't imagine where it could be hiding.

He looked down at his lower half and though his head was swimming, he could see very clearly that his leg was still there. It was undamaged, too. Interesting. He'd almost expected it to be gone. Perhaps this was another game. Hide-and-seek, or maybe tag. Well, he was tired of playing. He was leaving. Now.

He used his feet to scoot back to the wall and used it to help himself upright. This was considerably more difficult than it should have been. The disconnected sensation had blunted the pain, but it also made his movements clumsy. Not only that, but it took much more energy than he remembered to complete so simple a task as standing. He snarled, forcing himself upright and pushed away from the wall, bringing his flesh leg forward to take the first step across the room. And he fell flat on his face.

He screeched in pain and frustration, slamming the palm of his hand against the blood-covered floor. He contorted his body desperate to find out what new thing kept him from his goal, only to find his own foot flopping uselessly at the end of his leg. He glared at it, cursed it, flailed his leg around, anything to make it work. But as usual, his body had its own ideas. He growled and rolled back on to his stomach. If he had to crawl, so be it. He was getting out of here. He was going home. Paradise would be his, and screw everything and everyone who dared try to stop him.

He dragged himself across the wooden boards, metal foot working in concert with shaking flesh hand, smearing blood newly moistened with sweat across the stained floor. It was a torturous process. He moved so very slowly, but so much of his energy was being used. This could never work. He couldn't get home this way. He needed to stand and walk. He needed...a crutch, a cane, anything to help him get out. He looked around wildly, alert for anything that could make his journey easier.

There. Just a few feet away there was a smashed crate filled with a variety of wooden poles that seemed promising. He crawled towards it, pulling himself clumsily upward to see the contents better. It seemed that these poles were used for extremely different things. Some were pointed, almost spear-like, while others flattened into broad patterns. Some were longer, some shorter, but all were sturdy pieces of wood, not likely to break under pressure. He used his automail leg to hold himself against the box and picked out a shorter pole that ended in a relatively simple pattern of circles. It seemed like the right length and with luck, the broader end would assist him in keeping his balance. He swung the pole up and out of the crate and managed to prop it under his armpit without losing his balance. He grimaced. His current position was by no means comfortable, but at least he was upright. Now came the difficult part. Walking.

He leaned heavily on his crutch and hopped forward awkwardly, keeping his flesh leg elevated just enough to keep his unresponsive foot from tripping him up again. He wobbled for a moment, trying desperately to keep his balance, going so far as to touch the ground with his dangling foot to stay upright. His mouth twisted with pain, the top of the pole jammed underneath his arm already forming a bruise. He took in a deep breath and threw the upper part of his body forward, managing to thrust his crutch just ahead of his automail, hopefully making the next lunging step the tiniest bit easier.

He continued this way until he reached the 'hole' in the floor. Narrow, old, and extremely unstable. His favorite type of stairs. He wilted at the thought of descending the splintering wood. Nothing was ever easy. He looked around his immediate area, hoping for something to make his trip gentler on his body. There wasn't much, but the pile of clothes just a few steps away more than made up for the lack of help. He staggered over to the untidy heap and let himself collapse into the wealth of fabric.

So soft and warm. He'd missed having clothes. He pawed through the pile, hoping to find his own clothes somewhere in the mix. No such luck. It was probably better that they weren't here. He didn't want to even _think_ about buckles, leather, and all those ridiculous layers right now. He needed something simple and relatively warm. He could forget about long sleeves. No matter how much he hated the black knots embedded in his skin, he had no desire to rip them out. Nothing too heavy or long enough to trip over and absolutely nothing that would draw unwanted attention to him. He was trying to get home, not get caught. Unfortunately, most of the clothes were obviously unsuitable. Bright flowered patterns, enormous coats stuffed with heavy fur, sleeves that would drag the ground, button-down suits, and worst of all a lacy pink undergarment that couldn't cover anything if it tried. It took a while, but he finally managed to find something that met his criteria. The problem was that this particular item was...there was no avoiding it. It was a dress.

His sense of pride was screaming in the back of his mind, ordering his pragmatic side to pick something more manly or suffer the consequences. There was no way Edward Elric, the People's Alchemist, the original Military Brat, and Fifteen year-old prodigy was going to wear women's clothing. And that was precisely why the desperate teen forced the pale dress over his head. No one would expect it. He could escape in plain site. _She_ wouldn't be looking for a crippled blonde girl. And that was reason enough. He squirmed, working his arm through the loose sleeves with utmost care, and reached for his crutch, shoving himself upright with new strength. Having clothes really did make a difference. Even if they were girly.

Of course, even something as wonderful as clothes couldn't make the descent down the stairs any easier. He halted just at the head of the staircase, trying to ease his breathing and floating head, hoping to find a better way to get down. He could try hopping down the steps one at a time or maybe slide down the banister and hope for a smooth landing. But then simply scooting down the stairs, while slower and extremely un-manly, was probably the safest and easiest on his body. Decided, he positioned the wooden pole on the lip of the first stair and began lowering himself to the floor. But his crutch shifted position. He overbalanced.

He was falling, tumbling, screaming, bleeding, and everything was a blur, but now it was black. Black and red, black and blue, white and red, black and red and white and blue and black, and never any other. The colors, the screams, the pain and he. Together forever and never to part. Roses are red and Violets are too. Everything's bloody, but where were you? Lost in the dark, screaming alone, but together forever with her.

Black and red and white and blue, and he's back at the start. So where are you? Out looking for something that you'll never find- caught in a race against time. What good was home so far away, out of reach, never to stay? Red and black. Blood and ash. Burned to the ground, cut to the bone. Destroyed forever- not to return. But black fades to gray and gray to white and the white became light...and he was alive.

Alive and awake, but the nightmare wasn't over. He had to move, escape, get out of this place. Leave the bloodstains and terror and memories behind. He staggered away desperate for home.

He had

A promise to keep.

A soul to give.

A body to love.

A love to kill.

But the world began weaving and the red was intruding, tainting the glowing, spinning place that was home. And he fell oh so slowly in some new place. Somewhere cold and wet and white all around. But he couldn't stop here- could never stop running. But he couldn't stand and the sky was falling. And he was still alone, but not for long. They were chasing, and he was racing. Clawing and dragging and limping and falling. Falling and standing, standing and falling, scrabbling and writhing there in the snow.

And cold was warm and warm was cold. His shaking stopped and the voices did too.

All but one that said

_I'll never forgive you._


	9. Truth

He'd been arrogant. Unforgivably so. He'd never thought that something like _this_ would stop him. How incredibly stupid of him.

He'd _assumed_ that everything would work out because he had a name, a plan, and a dedicated team. His information was from a reliable witness. His plans were infallible. His team was the best of the best. Brute strength, strategy, knowledge, alchemy; everything you could possibly need to successfully complete any mission was at his fingertips. But none of it could change this simple fact.

Edison Curtis was dead. He'd been dead for over a decade. The garbled tale was recorded sloppily, hastily written by some slack-jawed private who thought he could submit sub-par work just because they had been in the middle of a war. And somehow, the bloody idiot had slid by, letting a botched report pass inspection to sit for years in a dusty box on a creaky shelf, only to prove completely useless when it was needed.

He'd run through the report over and over again, trying to squeeze even a drop more of precious information from the pages. But he still couldn't come up with anything. Names of passengers, the day the accident took place, the location, the suspected cause, and the ruling that everyone on the train had been blown to pieces, tragic casualties of sabotage gone terribly wrong- or so terribly right. It could be said that the most important pieces of information were there, but the _details_. The details were nonexistent. And they were everything to him.

He needed contacts, addresses, anything that could lead him to a suspect. But of course there was no record of the process to notify family members. That would be too much _work._ It was superfluous information that _couldn't possibly_ matter and was _much too difficult_ to write down.

How had the country, the community, reacted to the tragedy? Had the military brushed the whole thing off as just another Ishvallan attack or was it something...more? Had it been properly investigated? Obviously not. But had the family members blamed the military for not protecting their loved ones? And if they had, was Edward's disappearance a simple act of revenge? But if it was, _why_ had they waited so long? And _why Edward?_ He couldn't have been older than three. He had _nothing_ to do with any of it. The _only_ connection at all was that the accident had happened on the outskirts of his hometown.

If Roy ever found the low-life scum who'd dared to write such a pathetic excuse for a report, he'd roast him alive until even his _bones_ turned to ash.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. He could only wait and hope that by some stroke of luck there was someone still in Central who had known Edison Curtis. Someone familiar enough with him to give information on his family and closest friends.

Roy sighed heavily and glanced at the clock on his desk before swearing and jumping to his feet. The room tilted alarmingly, but he forced himself on, thrusting his arms through coat sleeves and hurrying out of his office with a grimace on his face. He barked out an excuse for his abrupt exit and stormed down the hallway, walking faster than usual in an effort to keep his feet solidly underneath him. He was going to be late.

He threw open the outside door, slamming it shut behind him and descending the stairs as fast as he dared. He slid down the street, boots skating across crusted ice, arms spread wide to aid his balance, dodging obstacles with abrupt shifts of his footing and the occasional leap aside, wind pelting ice crystals against exposed skin. He was careful to control his speed, limiting his movements and shifts to maintain the highest speed possible without sacrificing too much of his awareness. Even so, the helter-skelter descent was nerve-wracking, his heart flying somewhere in his throat. He quick-stepped to the right, catching a frosted pole and swinging himself into a side street.

The ice here was rougher, the street pitted and steeply sloped. The sudden change sent his arms flailing and legs churning desperately to keep himself upright. He fell backwards heavily and continued to slide, feet scrabbling for purchase against the ice. Abruptly, he was on his feet again, throwing himself forward, jerking his feet in front of him as fast as he could, scarcely touching the ground before leaping forward again, his momentum too great to be stopped. But he was running out of pavement and the bricked wall was getting much too close for comfort.

He threw himself into a roll, arms flying up to cradle his head and legs pulled tight against his chest. He hit the wall hard, breath expelled harshly from his lungs, back throbbing from the heavy impact. He gasped for air, already pushing himself upright and staggering down the deserted alley.

He had five more minutes to navigate the labyrinthine city before the clock would strike two. It would take him at least another fifteen to get to his destination in current conditions. He swore softly to himself, panting as he turned down yet another side street. He hated to admit it, but even with another slapdash shortcut, he'd never make it on time.

The wind picked up, bare branches swaying forlornly in the breeze, somber clouds creeping across a graying sky. The temperature dropped steadily, prompting Roy to gather his coat closer around himself. A flash of yellow and pale blue drew his gaze further down the road.

A slender girl was walking down the road with difficulty. She was leaning heavily against the wall, arm shielding her face from the biting wind, legs tangling in the flapping fabric of her gown between lurching steps, pale blonde hair lashing behind her. An empty sleeve and the glint of a metal leg accounted for her decidedly unsteady movements.

Roy sighed. It was a pity to see someone so young with automail. He briefly contemplated offering his help, but soon abandoned the notion. In his experience, those citizens that seemed the most fragile to outsiders were often much stronger than they were given credit for- particularly when the person in question was female. The very presence of her automail was proof enough of this fact. Such an invasive operation was not something the weak could complete. He found himself silently cheering the little blonde on as she turned the corner into another alley, following the wall wherever it took her. He hoped that one day she would be able to use her limb as well as Edward.

He smiled grimly and quickened his pace, ignoring the dull aches pulsing in back and skull. Edward was waiting.

Not soon enough, he was shouldering his way into the crowded bar. The barkeep spotted him and made a show of grousing about his latest customer.

"No room. No' a table free in th' building."

Roy smirked.

"Surely you can find _something_ , Otto. I don't mind sharing."

Otto snarled, his thick mustache enhancing the effect and gestured for the smaller man to follow him. He weaved through the crowd, deftly avoiding tray-toting barmaids and boisterous customers with agility ill-fitting a man of his girth. They came to a stop beside a booth in the far corner of the room where an irate young woman sat nursing a steaming mug of black sludge.

"Nessie, you mind sharin' a table wi' this bastard?"

Her mouth curled into scathing smile and she very nearly purred with satisfaction.

"I don't mind at all, Otto. Now would you be a dear and fetch my new _friend_ here a drink?"

He grunted an affirmative and stomped away, leaving the two to their own devices.

No sooner had Roy sat down than Vanessa was leaning half-way across the table, fist balled into the fabric of his uniform. She pulled him forward and brought her lips against his ear, hissing her extreme displeasure.

"Who do you think you're dealing with? You think you're untouchable just because you're a _Mustang_? What are you getting yourself into Roy? You better have a good explanation for all this, or you're going to be very, _very_ dead."

"Keep your temper in check. The other customers are starting to notice."

She growled, but released him and reluctantly settled back into the bench. Roy straightened his uniform, calculating eyes tracing her livid visage.

"I take it that you found something out about our Mr Curtis."

She flew forward, palm smacking the tabletop, lips parting in a feral grin.

"You don't have any idea. You _really_ don't know who he is. Listen up, _bastard_. _Edison Curtis_ was my _brother_. Got that, _Roy-boy_? And in case that _still_ doesn't mean anything to you, the Curtis family name _just happens_ to be taboo in Central. After all, crime lords don't exactly _like_ being reminded of their old bosses. Even if they are all dead. Got it? So unless you've got a death wish, I suggest you walk away. _Now_."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back into her seat.

"And why is that?"

"They've got one of my boys. And I want him back."

She was silent for a moment more. She sighed.

"Fine. But I want in."

"I don't think-"

"If someone's using my family name, I wanna know who the bastard is. Besides, I've got connections and information you wouldn't even _dream_ of. You _need_ me."

It was Roy's turn to sit in silence, turning her words over slowly in his head. If she was right- if Edward's kidnapping had some connection to the crime lords- they were all in some serious trouble.

"Tell me everything you know."

* * *

Though they were eager to exchange information, both agreed that it was too risky in their current surroundings- even if Otto was watching for overly inquisitive guests. So they used their never-fail fallback plan: the drunken military hookup.

It wasn't long before he'd charmed her into sighing sweet nothings in his ear. Naturally, such a young gentleman could only repay her with a line of soft kisses trailing up her arm. And when she practically fell into his lap, hands edging towards more sensitive places, the noble military man was forced to escort the genteel lady home. For her own safety, of course.

And if whispers were actually well-worded insults, kisses an excuse to lick a sibling who hated such things, and straying hands stealthy attempts at revenge, the illusion was convincing enough to give birth to another rumour about the womanizing colonel- while his quick phone call requesting a few soldiers to return to the office and cover for him due to an unexpected guest only inspired even more insistent tales of scandalous after-hour activities involving the entire office.

But the new couple ignored the escalating whispers. Instead they staggered outside, leaning heavily against one another, tumbling into snowdrifts and slipping inside empty doorways, making their clumsy way down the street until they were safely away from lecherous eyes. There they adopted a more traditional stance; Roy's arm draped casually across her shoulders, lingering just above her breasts, Vanessa's wrapped tightly around his waist, her head nestled against his chest.

Their progress through the streets was slow, restricted by their embrace, but it allowed them to have a lengthy conversation in quiet tones.

"So. Your brother."

"Mm. Half-brother, technically. Our father was one of the old crime lords. His wife was assassinated soon after Edison was born. The other bosses thought he was getting soft. They thought that if they murdered his wife he would break down and start mismanaging his district- allowing them to take over another section of the city. Instead they just pissed him off. He made an example of two or three of them. Beat them to death while his son watched. Told him 'This is what happens when someone screws around with me. This is what happens when they try to take what's not theirs. Those mothers try it again and I'll kill 'em all.'"

"How touching."

"Mmhmm. Soon after that he started messing around with some of the prostitutes- including my mother. They all took drugs of course. No one wanted a parasite leaching off them. They tended to discourage their customers. So everything went on as normal. Father molded his baby boy into the next crime lord, had sex with everything that moved, and contended with the other bosses to take over as much of the city as possible-at least until my mother found religion."

"A religious prostitute?"

"I never understood it either. Somehow she got it into her head that giving her body to as many men as possible was her duty in life. She called it 'sharing life.' And then she decided that the drugs she was taking was killing the result of her 'worship'. So she stopped taking them. A few months later she got herself pregnant. When Father found out she hadn't been taking her drugs, he had her beaten until she lost the parasite. A week or two later he had an idea- a change of heart, so to speak. He decided to start breeding the prostitutes. After all, once they were pregnant they could be ridden as often and as hard as he wanted. Any girls would grow up to be more breeders, but the boys he could turn into loyal subordinates. And since my mother was the one who'd inspired the idea, he gave her the privilege of being the only breeder he would indulge in.

"A few years later there were a bunch of us brats running around. Us girls got to watch our mothers at work every night while the boys got on-the-job training as scouts, pick-pockets, and decoys. Not many of them were left by the end of their training. They'd die off before our mothers could replace them. And the constant pregnancies were taking its toll on them. My mother was the first to get sick, but the rest soon followed. Father's plan was falling apart.

"He didn't have the income from the prostitutes to rely on anymore, and the military was beginning to crack down on everyone. Things were getting tight. Father decided it was time for Edison to step up and prove himself.

"Eddie was very good at what he did. Soon he had contacts in each of the major syndicates. He charmed their daughters, killed their sons, gave attention to wives left neglected. He wore a different name and face wherever he went. He was untraceable, and the families themselves trusted him completely. It was like he was ten different people at once.

"He had them all right where he wanted them. No one knew who had managed to infiltrate their operations- or how they had done it. The rival organizations began to fall apart from the inside out. And with no one left to oppose them, Father became the undisputed King of Central and Brother the Ace.

"Now that the entire city was under their control, Father allowed Edison to do as he wished. He chose to continue living the charade. He had a different lover every day of the week, and the families were all too eager to pass on any information they heard. His execution was flawless. All the benefits and none of the attachments- just like Father had taught him.

"Honestly, I learned a lot from him. Don't look at me like that. It's just...business. You can't afford to get attached in our line of work. Things get messy when emotions are involved. You know that."

"I know. But I don't have to like it. When I'm Fuehrer, you'll never have to think like that again. I'll change things. My friends- my _family_ will always be safe."

"My stupid little brother...I don't think I'll ever really understand you. Stupid, sweet, naive baby brother. I wish we could all be more like you."

"...I think the world would be a much darker place if they were."

"Perhaps. But it'd be a special kind of dark. A good kind of dark, I think."

"And I think that makes you crazy. But a special kind of crazy. Maybe even a good kind of crazy."

"It runs in the family."

"So it does."

They were silent for a moment, frozen in the silent streets until the first flakes of snow whirled through the air.

"We should go. Havoc and Riza are probably waiting for us."

She smiled at him halfheartedly and allowed herself to be pulled along.

"I still haven't told you the part you really wanted to hear."

"I must admit, I'm curious. What happened?"

"The same thing that happened to everyone. The war."

"The-?"

"Yes. It happened a few months before you joined the military, actually. Father arranged a weapon deal with the Ishvalans. It was the usual trade-off. Guns and ammo for a few women and a couple thousand cenz. Father usually handled the trade-offs himself, but he was getting older. So he decided to bring Edison along. I remember watching them get on the train together, and I remember one of Eddie's lovers saying goodbye to him just before the train left the station.

"No one knows exactly what happened after that, but something went wrong. Maybe one of the bombs they were transporting wasn't stable. Maybe the merchandise was discovered by one of the conductors. I don't know. But just on the outskirts of Resembool, the entire train went up in flames.

"When the former crime lords heard of the accident- and that Eddie had been playing them all along- there was a scramble for the 'throne.' During the fight, the family I had left was wiped out. Mother managed to pass me off as the daughter of one of the other prostitutes, but all my sisters were branded traitors and killed. Mother was the last to go. They knew she couldn't run- she was still the weakest of the older generation. So they made her watch them kill her children. By the end of it all, she was begging them to kill her too. They were happy to oblige. And that was the end of the Curtis family."

"And so we've come full circle. But tell me something. If everyone knows that Edison Curtis is dead- and he is, I have the official records back at my office- why would someone use his name to kidnap a member of the military? It doesn't sound like anyone regretted his death, and even if they did, my officer didn't have anything to do with that particular case."

"I don't know. Honestly, I can't think of anyone stupid enough to do something like this."

"That's just it. Based on the intelligence we've collected, they're not stupid. It was a well executed job. No, they're not stupid. Obsessed, maybe. But not stupid."

"Obsessed...That changes a few things. Do you have a description of the suspects? Maybe a sketch or two?"

"We have a few."

"This is important, Roy. Is one of the sketches of a woman?"

"She's our main suspect. Why? Do you know who she is? Do you know where she is?"

Vanessa swore and twisted out of Roy's tight hold. She took his hand and pulled him into a clumsy jog.

"If your suspect is who I think it is, your man may be in big trouble. Hurry! This could be worse than I thought."

They hurtled through the streets, sliding on ice, scrambling around corners, dodging heaps of frozen refuse and the few other pedestrians out. Rounding the last corner, Roy spotted Major Armstrong discussing something with one of his subordinates at the bottom of the stairs.

"Major, stop that woman! Don't let her get away!"

The major looked surprised for the briefest of moments before he reacted in the typical Armstrong manner. In seconds, bulging muscles hid the slight woman from view while the gargantuan man announced that it was his pleasure as a member of the Armstrong family to apprehend criminals.

Roy stumbled to a stop, hands braced on knees as he fought to regain his breath.

"Thank you for your assistance, Major. I would appreciate it if you could also escort her to Interrogation Room Two. My men and I should be along shortly."

"Consider it done, sir. Forgive me, but...would this have anything to do with the investigation I assisted you with earlier this week?"

"I'm afraid so. The case has grown quite serious."

The major's face hardened, his grip tightening enough to make his captive squeak.

"I see. Then I shall deliver her immediately."

Armstrong snapped a quick salute, already making his way up the slippery slope, toting his faintly protesting burden with little effort. Roy sighed deeply and, knuckling the bridge of his nose, shot an exhausted glance to the major's remaining subordinate.

"You're Ross, correct?"

The woman startled, her face coloring as she stammered an affirmative.

"One of my men, Second Lieutenant Breda, is currently working with the Investigations Department. I need you to give him a message."

"Yes, sir!"

"Tell him to drop everything and report to my office in no less than ten minutes. There's been a break in the 'Elle' case. Get moving, soldier!"

She scrambled away, leaving him alone by the stairs, forcing puzzle pieces to snap together, spinning twisted fragments into an ugly tale, seamless and grim. He shook himself out of his reverie and retreated to his office. Nothing was absolute. Vanessa hadn't identified their suspect yet. There was a chance, however small, that they were all over-reacting. That Edward had already freed himself and was making his way to headquarters to gloat about his exceptional capabilities. There was always that chance. Despite all odds, every probable situation, Edward could be fine. It had happened before. It could happen again. Anything was possible.

He rounded a corner and met with Breda. He nodded jerkily and motioned him to continue walking with him. They entered the office, coming face to face with the rest of the team. Fuery dutifully manning the switchboard, Falman still going through reports one by one, Havoc and Hawkeye waiting at their desks in tense anticipation. Roy rapped out an order and spun away, marching towards Interrogation Room Two, more focused on the looming confrontation than hiding the gravity of the situation from his subordinates. His Lieutenants followed behind, silently exchanging hard looks and fumbling armfuls of paper.

Roy waved away the guard stationed at the door and burst into the room. He snapped impatiently, holding a glove-less hand out for the files he needed. He snatched away the pictures and slammed them onto the metal table, never once looking away from Vanessa's solemn face as she took in each careful sketch.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry, Roy. It's her. Your man is as good as dead."


	10. Masquerades

Havoc shuffled uneasily, eyes darting between his superior officer and the slight strawberry blonde shifting nervously in her seat. He wasn't sure who she was or where the Colonel had found her, but he had the sneaking suspicion that if she didn't have a good reason for her declaration, Mustang was going to completely lose it. And if she did have a good reason to proclaim the Chief dead...well, things weren't looking good for her either way.

"Explain."

He winced in sympathy for the small woman. The colonel was without a doubt _way_ beyond pissed.

"Roy...I know this is hard to accept, but...I don't think...it's just..."

She cut herself off, burying her fingers into her hair, exhaling shakily.

"I need to know. Who is she?"

The colonel's voice was hard, his question more of a command than anything else. The informant sat upright again, gesturing helplessly.

"I don't know her real name, but we called her Bee. She was...broken."

"So she's insane."

"No, not insane. Just...broken. Her soul was...splintered. Whenever she was afraid or upset, she could be violent and paranoid, but most of the time she was one of the gentlest people I've ever known. She's been that way as long as I can remember."

"I don't understand. What part of that explains why she kidnapped one of my officers?"

"Well, her father was a potential ally to the King. The Ace integrated himself into the family, and she was completely taken by him. In turn, her...oddities intrigued him enough to make her his favorite. But when the accident happened and the whole truth came out, she got much worse. Her soul fractured further from stress until no one was sure what facet was in control anymore. I don't think she knew herself, and as time passed each personality proved to have its own set of memories and emotions.

"The new King decided that she was too much trouble to keep around, but since her father still had great influence on the business, he simply had everyone cut all ties with her. I'm not sure how she manages to get by, but most days you can find her near the train station."

"The station. She must have mistaken him for..."

Havoc nervously fingered the cigarettes in his back pocket. He really, _really_ didn't like where this was going. He jumped slightly when Mustang growled in frustration. He watched the colonel prowl the room, brows knit in agitation, muttering streams of indecipherable nonsense to himself.

_Three. Two. One._

Mustang spun aggressively towards his silent crew, rattling orders off to Heymans who had been waiting patiently, pen and paper in hand since entering the interrogation room.

"I want soldiers monitoring every block within five miles of that station. Reports and tip-offs about crime in the area come directly to me. Buzz words 'Bee' and 'Ace' should be added to Fuery's list. New 'hot spot' locations: 'Resembool' and 'train station.'"

Heymans saluted and exited the room, not bothering to wait for a dismissal. The colonel turned back to face his informant.

"The train won't be running today. Do you know any other location where we can find this 'Bee'?"

"I think so. Last I heard, someone had spotted her hanging around Old Ava's place."

"Havoc. You and our birdie will be going undercover to retrieve the suspect. Use force if necessary, but remember that we need her _alive_. In the event that you find Fullmetal while undercover, contact us _immediately_ and abandon your former objective. Get moving, soldier!"

He snapped off an affirmative and hustled his new partner back to the main office, planning alternate identities on the run. It occurred to him that he should be ecstatic about having a pretty lady like Mustang's birdie assigned as his partner. It also occurred to him that if there was any emotion he should be feeling right now, ecstatic was not one of them.

He burst into the office, slung the smaller woman towards Hawkeye's desk, and slammed the door behind them. He directed his new accomplice- he decided to name her Gretchen- to Hawkeye's secret stash of feminine clothing in the bottom of her filing cabinet, stripping out of his uniform as he spoke. Falman tossed him his emergency bag- filled with discrete weaponry, surveillance devices, civilian clothing, and a small first aid kit- and promptly began ridding the room of discarded clothing.

In record time, Havoc was changed and armed with an assortment of weaponry that was not-quite-lethal. At that point, Havoc turned his attention to Gretchen and took over for a heavily blushing Fuery. With a quick warning to hold still, Havoc applied a generous amount of some sort of white powder to her exposed skin and smeared a bit of powdered ink just below her eyes. Running his hands through his hair to give himself a hint of grey, he told her to throw her own locks up in a sloppy bun and proceeded to instruct her on their new persona.

Their names were Gretchen and Romy Kostya. They were going out for their daily stroll in hopes of curing Gretchen of her consumption. Her loving older brother was accompanying her in case the fresh city air became too much for her. They were only here for a week while their home was remolded in hopes of making it more comfortable for dear Gretchen. They were staying with their mother's much younger sister, Elizabeth.

Havoc made her repeat the story back to him until he was sure she had all the details down and after borrowing a pair of false spectacles from Fuery, they set off arm in arm.

For the most part of their journey, they kept to themselves, each playing through multiple scenarios in their minds- the best, the worst, and everything in between. They were only a few streets away from their destination when Havoc realized that he should probably try to prepare his partner for what may or may not happen in the next few minutes.

"Hey, Gretchen."

"Yes?"

"If someone tries to...surprise us, you should probably let me handle it."

"That's sweet of you, Romy, but you shouldn't worry about me so much. I'm feeling much stronger today. I think I can handle a little excitement."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to have a spell. Our brother might not let any of us out of his sight again if I bring you back less than perfect."

"I'm positive. You don't have to baby me so much. I'll be fine."

Havoc opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a tight squeeze on his arm.

"Oh Romy, look at that! What a charming cafe. We should get something hot while we're waiting for Miss Bee. I'm afraid I'll be frozen solid if we have to wait out here for her."

Havoc frowned briefly before his expression smoothed out into an indulgent smile.

"Of course, Gretchen. Anything for my sweet sister. Shall we?"

Havoc pulled the door open with a flourish and leaned forward into a slight bow, free arm inviting the delicate female to enter at her leisure. Laughing gaily, she curtsied in return and chose a small table near the large window at the front of the shop, settling herself with charming grace. Havoc followed her lead, positioning himself so he had a clear view of the building his partner had indicated with a vaguely exuberant gesture. Thus situated, Havoc waved the shopkeeper over and ordered a light lunch and coffee for them both.

While they waited for Bee to show her face, Gretchen kept up a companionable stream of inanities, humorous reports on the love lives of her many acquaintances, fanciful rumors about people he'd never heard of, and the occasional wistful reminisce of their time together as a family.

He had to admit, the colonel's birdie was good. Very good. But from all the tales she recounted about their 'dear brother,' he got the idea that her ability to make up wild stories on the spot was going to get her in serious trouble one day. Most likely with the colonel, should he ever actually hear the stories she was spreading. But the look on Mustang's face when he found out there was someone telling the world that he'd spent the majority of his childhood as a life-size doll would probably make it all worth it.

His musings were cut short when he caught a glimpse of movement on the streets. He whipped his head around and squinted hard at the distant figure, fiddling with his glasses in a show of disbelief.

"My word. Is that who I think it is?"

Gretchen gasped, pressing a hand against her mouth in feigned surprise.

"Why, I do believe it is! It looks like Missus Bee is in Central after all. We absolutely must pay her a visit!"

"I agree. Come along, Gretchen."

The two rushed out of the shop, bustling across the street, pale faces flushing in the cold air. They scaled the short flight of stairs, as quickly and as quietly as possible. When Havoc caught sight of an open door, he eased a small caliber pistol from its holster inside his suit coat. He clicked the safety off and crept into the apartment, finger a hairsbreadth away from trigger.

A loud crash led him to a small bedroom where the suspect was frantically separating fragments of porcelain from old coins on worn carpet. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the state she was in. Dried blood outlined fingernails and sank into the webbing between digits, her eyes were over-bright, almost fevered in appearance, shoulders shuddering with some barely-repressed emotion. He licked his lips nervously and gestured for his partner to stay back and keep quiet. He was going to take a gamble and if it didn't pay off, he really didn't want her to get caught in the crossfire.

Havoc lowered himself to her level and pasted a gentle smile on his face, keeping the gun behind the wall and out of Bee's line of sight.

"Hello."

He'd whispered the word to keep from startling her, but even so the obviously over-wrought woman had jumped and squeaked out a yelp of surprise.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought you looked upset, so I came over to see if I could help. Is there something I can do for you, young lady?"

She whimpered, rocking herself back and forth while tugging fretfully at a loose curl.

"Can't! Leave me alone, I have to...I have to help him. Go away! I can't talk, I have to help him!"

"Help who?"

"Eddie! Have to help him, save him! Leave us alone! You're in our way!"

Heart flying high in his throat, Havoc swallowed, tongue beginning to stick to the roof of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Who's Eddie? Is he in trouble?"

"Stupid old man, doesn't hear what he's told! And my Eddie needs help while a stupid man talks to us. Leave us alone!"

"I just want to help. Can you remember that for me? I want to help Eddie. Will you let me do that for you?"

"I can do it! Don't need help! I'm fixing him! I can take care of my own husband, you go take care of yours!"

Both of their eyes widened, equally surprised at what she'd let slip. Havoc's heart plunged to somewhere around his ankles, not even registering the unintentional insult. Bee spoke in a whisper now, unsteadily, hands cupped over her mouth.

"Bee wasn't supposed to tell. It was a secret. A secret! Forget us, leave us! We can fix him. Leave and don't come back!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. My friends and I just want to help Eddie. All you have to do is tell us where he is, and we'll put everything to rights. It will all be over before you know it. Help us help you."

Screeching a denial, she sprang towards him. He barely managed to get his fist up and clubbed her down with the butt of his gun. He scrambled back a few steps and cocked the pistol back, aiming at her right shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw that his partner was circling behind him, though what she was planning to do, he had no idea. Bee pushed herself up, snarling and spitting, but hesitated to attack when she saw his gun.

"Let's calm down for a second. We're just trying to talk. We want to help Eddie just as much as you do, but if you won't co-operate, I'm afraid we'll have to take more drastic measures."

Her eyes flickered over his shoulder and she licked her lips, fists clenching with nervous energy.

"You want to take him from me. You're going to ruin everything. I won't let you! I've worked too hard for this! He's mine now! If I can't have him, no one will! I'd rather us both die than let someone separate us!"

She bared her teeth in a feral smile and threw herself forward. Havoc swore and pulled the trigger once, twice, thrice. She collapsed and he moved in, calling for something, anything to restrain her with. He flipped her over and crouched on top of her, pulling her hands together, grimly watching her face for evidence of returning consciousness. Gretchen knelt next to him, and handed him the belt to a bathrobe. He looped it several times around Bee's wrists before tying a secure knot at the end and breathing a sigh of relief. He instructed Gretchen to find something else to secure their captive's feet with and began taking stock of the damage he'd done.

He fingered the deeply bruised areas and fished the compressed balls of wax from the shallow pits in her skin. None of them had broken skin, which he supposed might be a good thing. Her collarbone felt like it was fractured, which was probably the reason she'd lost consciousness. Her injuries were already swelling and she'd probably have quite a bit of pain to work through, but as long as she was breathing, Havoc couldn't really bring himself to care.

Gretchen reappeared with a strip of what he assumed to be a bed sheet in hand. He finished restraining his captive and heaved himself to his feet. He took stock of the apartment, engaging the safety on his gun and holstering it as he searched. It didn't take long. Edward wasn't here. He ran his hands roughly over his face, exhaling slowly. He hated this. Hate, hate, hated it.

He squatted next to the still limp Bee and rapped her forehead with his knuckles. When she made no motion indicating a return to consciousness, he slid his arms under her form and lifted her with a quiet grunt of effort. Eyes hard, he exited the apartment and began the trek back to headquarters.

"Our little charade is over. From this moment on, I'm a military officer, you're my witness, and this piece of trash is a criminal awaiting execution."

"She hasn't been tried yet."

"She doesn't have to be. She's kidnapped and assaulted a ranked officer, resisted arrest, and obstructed an investigation. And if the chief dies before we get to him, she'll be getting pegged with murder as well. The military is her judge, her jury, and her victim. She's not making it out of this alive."

And if by some colossal screw-up, she did manage to avoid the death penalty, she wouldn't survive for long. He would see to that, and he bet the colonel and the rest of the team would be just as eager to correct the court's mistake.

But for now...it was time to focus on the present. Time to deliver his captive to headquarters and extract all the answers to their questions from her. Time to find Ed and get him the help he needed. And then, once Edward was home, safe and sound...justice would be done.


	11. Under Ashen Skies. A promise

Roy glowered at the edge of his desk, fists clenching rhythmically. It was with great difficulty that he stayed quietly seated, door shut and blinds closed, sequestered safely in his office. Migraine throbbing in the back of his skull, vision flickering irregularly, an insistent voice demanding he get up and do something to that...that... _criminal_. He'd very nearly given in to the thought several times already. He'd only managed to stay put thus far because he knew exactly what would happen if he did give in.

It would be so _satisfying_ to march into that room and take control of the interrogation. To pry the precious answer from her sneering lips. To burn away that smug look, roasting her inch by inch until she finally submitted to his will. And then, once he had what he wanted- what he so desperately needed- it would be so easy to make her disappear. All it would take was a single miscalculation on his part and with a snap of his fingers she would be no more than a stain on the carpet, a bad taste left in his mouth, a memory waiting to be washed away with a bottle of alcohol.

But those thoughts were from a smaller part of Roy that was so pissed he could hardly see straight. The larger part of his being- the self-aware, pragmatic, logical, _disciplined_ part knew he would regret doing anything at all in his present state and had locked himself in his office, away from the tempting screams and curses echoing down the hall.

At least the rest of the team didn't know about the snippet of information she'd let slip. That would have been truly disastrous. It was bad enough that Havoc knew. It had taken a threat to remove him completely from the investigation before he'd agreed to leave the interrogation to his fellow soldiers. He was probably out in the main office right now- still fuming about his orders, but knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that it was for the best.

Roy found himself wondering what exactly was going on in that room. He knew he probably shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. Were they playing the 'good' soldier, 'bad' soldier game or were they playing 'bad' soldier, 'worse' soldier? He found himself hoping it was the latter, but if a motherly Riza got more answers than cold-blooded killer Riza he couldn't really complain.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a loud banging on his door. He barely had time to stand, chair tipping to the floor with a clatter before the door swung open wildly, banging into the outside wall. Havoc rushed in, eyes glowing with intensity, mouth a razor's grin. He wasted no time saluting, merely meeting Roy's gaze with a manic look of his own.

"A report just came in from the warehouse district. A few of our men found what looks like a crime scene outside of Warehouse Seven."

"Warehouse Seven...that's only about a mile from the station. Excellent. Havoc, get our reserve team ready for deployment, and tell those soldiers to set up a perimeter around the scene. We don't need anyone muddying up the trail."

Havoc's grin widened, baring his teeth, eyes glinting.

"Yes, _sir_."

The two men exited his office in a frenzy, Havoc already getting Fuery to reestablish the connection with Squad Nine while Roy swept into the hallway, nervous energy crackling through his body, fixing his objective firmly in mind. He burst into the interrogation room and steeled himself before turning menacingly to face the now-silent female.

He considered her silently while fighting to keep himself under control. She met his gaze with glassy eyes, expression flickering between terrified despondency and bitter defiance. Pulling anxiously against the thinly padded restraints anchoring her to the table, tangled hair fanning outwards to hang in uneven clumps, nails still dyed black with old blood, puffed and pitted shoulder an angry red, bleeding lips and tear-streaked face hiding behind the radiating ooze of dark blue across a delicate cheekbone.

The entire room had stilled upon his entrance, his inspection and struggle for self-control lasting only seconds in the eternity of perfect silence. He spoke softly, voice like silken steel.

"Ms Bee. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I was...preoccupied. My name is Colonel Roy Mustang. It has occurred to me that you must be terribly worried about your...Eddie, wasn't it? I thought I should let you know that we are getting close to a breakthrough. It seems he was seen. Quite recently, in fact. As we speak, my men are forming a squad to retrieve him. Forgive me if I'm wrong, Ms Bee, but...you wouldn't happen to know anything about Warehouse Seven, now would you?"

A heartbeat of calm and the room exploded with activity.

The captive screeched, eyes widening in murderous denial, fighting against her restraints harder than ever before, flinging her body around with wild abandon, tears streaking down her discolored face. Falman and Breda materialized at her side, grimly holding her down, forcing her to stay seated and still enough for Riza to stick a tranquilizer into her swollen shoulder.

They released her, watching as she quieted and slumped forward, mumbling softly to herself. When she finally stilled, each of his subordinates turned to face him, wary hope flickering behind tired eyes, waiting for the words that would breathe new life into them all.

Roy allowed a satisfied smile spread across his face.

"Looks like we've found ourselves an Elric."

* * *

The next hour is a blur of blue, white, black, gold, and gunmetal gray. The stench of burning fuel, thick smoke, and closely packed human hangs heavy in the air. Engines labor, tires rumble, cloth flaps, metal clinks and groans, muffled echoes spilling into the street.

Soldiers slip out of their cramped quarters, brandishing weapons, quickly, quietly, carefully closing the remaining distance and encircling an old warehouse with the number seven painted across weathered wood in fading whitewash. A spark from a gloved man bearing stars and stripes on proud shoulders and they tighten their formation, erasing the space created when two officers answer his call.

A whispered conversation and a scruffy blond jogs to the small side door hanging ajar. He squats beside the entrance, back to his fellow soldiers and is still. Seconds tick by and the male straightens, flashing a signal to the waiting couple.

The female joins him, readying her weapon with a distinctive click. The gloved officer forms precise hand-signs, silently instructing the remaining guard. Orders given, he joins the waiting pair and after a brief conference, the trio passes through the open door and disappears from view.

Seconds stretch into minutes, marked only by the slushy stamp of frozen feet.

The female returns, solemn and pale.

She speaks, voice barely audible over strong wind. The soldiers respond, those nearest to the truck trading weapons for tools and cloth. The others stand down, cradling weapons in calloused hands. Those burdened with supplies follow the blonde, sparing the blood-spattered floor no more than an indifferent glance.

The scruffy male waits for them by a dilapidated staircase stained rusty brown around gouge marks in weak wood. He tells them that this is as far as they go and relieves them of their burdens, balancing the objects skillfully in his arms. Every soldier in the area is to return to base on foot. The mission is over, no questions asked, no answers given. They will report to their usual commanding officer and resume their usual duties.

Like good soldiers, they salute crisply and follow orders. Within moments they are outside and relay the message, leading the company of rough-housing soldiers back to headquarters.

Inside, the trio of officers set to work- keeping eyes fixed firmly ahead, as if ignoring all else in the room would make it less real. As if keeping out of each others' sight meant that they were here alone- that it was all just a deeply personal nightmare, hitting much too close to home. An ugly hallucination pressing against their psyche, giving way at the last possible instant in a violent heave to consciousness.

But there was only so much time they could avoid each other. Only so much work to do. Only so many pieces to put back together before they had to confront their worst nightmare- were forced to admit that maybe everything was real; that maybe, just maybe...there were worse things in the world than death.

Shining black tape rolled tightly and shoved into a box with crumpled, ink-smeared paper. Bits of metal folded carefully, almost lovingly, inside thin cloth. Crusted over tools jumbled together in an old sack. Contorted digits, jagged edges, exposed copper peeking from under a length of wool that wasn't quite long enough. Silent witnesses to the small group of soldiers, officers, leaders- trying desperately to be more than what they truly were.

Imperfect.

Emotional.

Human.

Three words are spoken. Three simple words. Curse, wish, order, prayer, promise, and sentence. An ending- or the beginning of one.

Hands cradle an awkward bundle of wrapped metal, gently, reverently, as if his burden were too precious, too fragile to be held by someone so large. The woman follows him, hugging her own burdens tightly to her chest, never more than two paces behind shoulders slumped ever so slightly. They exit the building without another word, faces clear, but eyes shining brightly with repressed emotion- refusing to acknowledge the bloodstains and splintered wood but hyper-aware of each marred section of floor, taking great care to step around each.

The couple moves through slick snow, laying their burdens down in the truck's open bed.

Sweet to the point of being sour, a familiar smell drifts in the wind. Underneath wind's whistle and snow's creak, susurration the color of bright orange and flickering red whispers at the edge of hearing.

The disheveled blond joins them now, ash caught in his beard, a cigarette hanging from his lips. They set off together, ghosts following a small black dog freed from his cage and given a scent to track. He led them through darkening streets, down a path only he knew.

In the center of the single room that makes up the second floor of an old building, a mattress is ablaze. Pillows curl in on themselves. Blankets burn away thread by thread. Sticky, soiled clothing hisses and crackles in token resistance, railing against flames that rise to touch the ceiling above. The floor begins to sag, tongues of gold licking at wooden boards swollen with crimson, giving way in a flurry of sparks. The entire building bulges and collapses in on itself.

A raging inferno builds, feeding on rope and clothing and wood and blood and tears and semen, a tower of flame stretching upwards in a massive memorial pyre, stark against dark sky, smoke blurring the line between heaven and earth. Falling flakes turn ashy gray, mourning innocence lost, soiled with memories once trapped inside thick walls.

A small group of mere mortals, tiny, insignificant, helpless when faced with the hard truth of the world marches on. They are not gods. They are not all-powerful. They are not infallible. They can't change the past, can't bring the dead back to life. Can't right all that is wrong in the world.

But that won't stop them from trying. Can't stop them from searching. From _hoping_.

And if all else fails, _nothing_ can stop them from bringing the rest of the world down to hell with them.


	12. Patches

He thought it strange. He knew he'd experienced the phenomenon before- quite often in fact- but it never failed to surprise him how elastic time could be. He couldn't make sense of it. A second was a measure of time as was an hour, a day, week, month, year. How was it that seconds could stretch on for so long and hours pass quicker than he could blink? There was no other measurement capable of that. A gram was a gram, a liter was a liter, a meter was a meter, and a cenz was a cenz. Never anything more, never anything less.

He didn't really know and truthfully, he didn't care. He had more pressing thoughts at the moment. He thought he should, at least. Honestly, he was feeling a bit numb, which was odd to say the least. Yes, very odd. He knew what had happened, recalled the last twenty-nine hours and thirteen minutes with perfect clarity. His body was filled to the brim with nervous energy, his pulse exactly twenty-three beats faster than normal, and whenever he unclenched his fists his hands began to shake. All the signs were there and every precaution had been taken- his gloves and chalk given to Riza for safe keeping in exchange for one of her back-up pistols and some of the wax bullets he'd helped Havoc fashion- yet he didn't really feel very...emotional.

He knew it wasn't shock- he'd dealt with that plenty of times in the war, but it had never felt quite like this- and he didn't think that he'd let his anger get the better of him this time. When that happened he was never able to think straight and he knew that he was being perfectly reasonable in this situation. Maybe even too reasonable. He supposed that left one other possibility. He'd really been hoping to conclude his self-evaluation with different results, but there was nothing for it. He had...regressed.

Everything would be fine, as long as his adrenaline kept pumping and the tension stayed in the air. He would be able to function perfectly. Alchemy would be kept firmly in check, logic would rule his every decision, and even the most shocking of revelations wouldn't faze him. He was in the Zone now. He'd thought he'd finally gotten rid of this particular state, had hoped that it had been locked away in the recesses of his mind with most of his other mental souvenirs from Ishval. No such luck, it seemed.

There was nothing else for it. He would keep following their little tracker, find Edward, get him the help he needed, and then drink himself into oblivion- preferably while locked in the bathroom of his home where there wasn't the slightest possibility he'd be found blubbering into his bottle or puking all over his furniture. After that, well...it was best to take things one step at a time.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts and put the majority of his focus back on his surroundings. Strange. This area of town seemed extremely familiar. In fact, he was certain that he'd passed that florist's shop just that afternoon on the way to-

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh.

Well.

That probably wasn't good.

He took off in an all-out sprint, easily overtaking Hayate and his subordinates.

First, second, right at the third, fourth, jump the sinkhole, fifth, left, right, and stop.

Hayate skidded to a stop next to him, tongue lolling and tail still wagging from the impromptu run, watching him catch his breath and search the alley at the same time. Havoc and Riza weren't far behind, both demanding to know what was going on as soon as they were in sight.

"I saw him."

"What do you mean you saw him? That's impossible."

"Colonel, we've been with you the entire time and we haven't seen anyone."

"No, not now. Earlier." He jogged further down the alley glancing behind trash bins and down other corridors before moving on.

"Two hours ago, I think. I only realized just now, but it had to be him."

"Look, Boss, we all want to find him, but are you really s-"

"It was him. I didn't recognize him at first. He looks like a girl. But it's him."

"What do you mean he looks like a girl?"

"I only saw him from the back. He was in a dress. And his hair was down. One arm, a metal leg, short- I can't believe I didn't see it _before_."

"Sir, you need to _stay calm_ and start thinking _rationally_ about all this. We need a pl-"

"Hawkeye, I am _perfectly_ calm and I _do_ have a plan- if you would let me _finish_. Havoc, you start scouting out the side streets, Hawkeye, you take Hayate and see if you can pick up his trail. Shout if you find anything. Go!"

Not more than a minute had passed, and Hawkeye was already yelling out a report.

"Sir, we've picked up his trail! He was definitely here!"

"Which direction was he headed?"

"Straight ahead, sir! It looks like he was staying close to the wall!"

Close to the wall, close to the wall. That was good to know. Ignore everything else and look close to the wall. Pick up the pace now, he couldn't be too far away. There. A lump on the ground coated with snow, glimpses of pale blue, tarnished steel, and ashy yellow.

He kicked into a run and slid home next to the boy, plowing up a row of fresh fallen snow.

"I found him! He's over here!"

Roy slid two ungloved fingers tight against his throat, adding chemical burns to a mental list of injuries. Yes- a pulse- weak, but definitely there. Shifting his hand to cover a blue-tinged mouth, Roy also noted that his breathing was labored and shallow.

Hawkeye coasted to a stop and squatted next to Edward's head, brushing away the snow collected there before jerking to attention at Roy's voice.

"Lieutenant, I need you to get in contact with Alphonse. Tell him to meet us up at the hospital on base. Then I need you to get that truck over here as fast as you possibly can. Havoc and I will handle him for now."

She snapped off an affirmative and launched herself away, Black Hayate following his master with glee. A hand closed around Roy's shoulder, a sense of forward movement and unexpected weight nearly sending him toppling forward. Havoc jerked to a stop, eyes flying over Edward's prone figure, sucking in air through his teeth. Roy wasted no time.

Calling out directions and running through all the first aid tricks they knew, they soon had the boy flat on his back and covered with as much material as the officers could afford to lose- overcoats, uniform jackets, even their over shirts. But now they'd done all they could do. Waiting for Riza was the only thing left.

They took up their stations with reluctance. Havoc knelt with the boy, hand draped across his forehead as if his touch could keep him alive better than frozen, bled-through bandages and clothes that were far too big. Roy paced. Back and forth, wearing a rut into the ground, twisting his body, swinging his arms, snapping his fingers, smacking his cheeks- anything to keep his blood going. He reminded himself that they weren't safe yet, came up with a thousand different scenarios to convince his adrenalin to keep pumping a little longer, to raise the tension even higher. It wouldn't do to break down yet.

Minutes passed by, each soldier becoming increasingly anxious- and colder by the second. Havoc was forced to abandon his position, hands rubbing roughly against skin, breathing into his palms, stomping his feet to get the feeling back, but always hovering around the child's recumbent form.

Not long after his subordinate's unwilling concession to the cold, the roar of a diesel engine and the creak of ice under metal wrapped rubber buoyed their spirits. Riza was back. The truck shuddered to a stop at the end of the alley. Riza flung open her door and threw herself headlong into the snow, closing the distance between them in record time.

When she was still a few steps away, Roy took command of the situation, barking directions while positioning himself behind Edward's head. Havoc was stationed at his feet and Riza slid to a stop at his middle. They all shifted into crouches and slid their hands under the limp body, adjusting their holds slightly whenever they encountered an injury. Roy noted that Edward flinched at their first touch and told himself that it was a good sign, that it meant Edward was at least partially aware of what was happening to him even if only on the most basic of levels.

A swift countdown and they lifted him smoothly from the ground. Edward tensed slightly at the movement, but his muscles relaxed before the action could be completed. They moved towards the truck bed in carefully synchronized steps, keeping his body level and supported at all times. There were a few nerve-wracking moments where the ground was pitted or completely iced over, and by the time they reached their transport they were all sweating from the strain. And here was the tricky part.

Roy shifted his arms around slowly, keeping Edward's head and shoulders as still as possible as he moved to the side. At his word they lifted the boy higher and took another cautious step forward until the entirety of his head was resting against wood planks. Again, Roy changed positions, withdrawing completely as his subordinates slid their holds further up Edward's body. Climbing into the truck, he took great pains to avoid jostling the boy and once again placed himself behind the head. A bit more maneuvering and Riza joined him in the truck bed.

At this point, Havoc released his grip and ran to the cab, ready to let off the parking break and head to the military exclusive hospital on base as soon as Roy gave the all-clear. One more shift of limbs and he deemed them all secure enough to begin their ride. Havoc responded to the signal with enthusiasm, slamming the break back and pressing his foot firmly against the fuel pedal. The truck lurched forward, the passengers in back grimacing and re-evaluating their seats of choice.

Roy shook away brief annoyance and refocused on the task at hand. Seated rather uncomfortably between the beginning of a wooden bench and the metal cab, he ran through all the first aid options available now that Riza was trusting him with his gloves again.

He could start a fire, obviously, but he didn't have enough fuel to keep it going for any length of time. Perhaps a series of small fires would suffice. But no- that would be a waste of energy. Then it occurred to him. He pushed away from his corner and bent over the still form. Palms hovering over heart and groin, fingers spread wide, eyes half-closed in concentration, he gathered some of his dwindling energy reserve and let it flow through the center of his gloved hands, a faint, pulsing glow the color of the sunset seeping through cloth as he sent wave after wave of heat into the damp mound of cloth, metal, and flesh.

Riza lay next to the boy, one arm wrapped around the top of his shoulders, the other curled awkwardly around his head so she could cup his cheek in her hand. She watched Roy solemnly, not interfering with his work until she noticed the signs of discomfort creasing her charge's bruised face beneath her touch. At her cutting gesture, Roy ended the alchemic process and ignored the twinge in his lower back and growing exhaustion to bend yet closer to the increasingly responsive teen. He watched as she gently patted the crinkled face, calling his name in a soothing voice. Eyelids twitched and drifted to half-mast, revealing a pair of hazy golden eyes.

"Edward? Can you hear me?"

His mouth sagged as he drew in a raspy breath, eyes roaming lazily under puckered brows. His gaze passed over Roy's face and he hesitated, face scrunching up as he tried to make sense of the situation. After a few seconds of staring at his superior, his expression relaxed, as if he'd just realized who was hanging over him.

"Bas'ard..."

The word was breathy, nearly impossible to hear over the rumble of wind and vehicle. Roy grinned, voice carrying an undercurrent of suppressed laughter.

"Hey there, shorty."

A blush trickled into the teen's cheeks, corner of his mouth pulling into a grimace, eyes drifting shut again.

"Norra shrimp, you bas'ard."

Riza patted his face again, prompting his eyes to flutter open once more.

"Edward. You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?"

"'M tired."

"I know Edward, but you have to stay awake. Why don't you tell me how you're feeling?"

"'S hot. Hur's."

"Can you tell me where?"

"'V'rywhere. 'S hot."

He appeared to squirm beneath the pile of clothes, as if he was trying to escape into the freezing air. Riza tightened her hold and spoke to him a trifle louder, attempting to recapture his attention.

"You need to stay still for now, Edward. It's too dangerous for you to be moving around yet. I know you're hot, but just stay put and we'll have you feeling better in no time."

"Don' wanna."

Roy placed a firm hand on top of the wiggling mound where he assumed the boy's thigh to be and stretched with his other hand to thump the boy gently on his forehead.

"Behave, Fullmetal. You don't want to worry Alphonse, do you?"

Edward calmed and settled for letting his eyes drag from left to right and back again. Roy noticed that his breathing was growing rougher and that his eyebrows were drawing together again.

"Fullmetal, what's the matter this time?"

It took a bit longer for the golden gaze to find him. There was a spark of what he thought might be surprise in the young teen's eye, and his speech was slurring together so badly that Roy could hardly understand him.

"'Er's Al? He's a'right?"

"Alphonse is fine. We're going to meet him right now at the hospital."

Edward looked a bit panicked at that statement.

"Why? 'Zee sick?"

The two adults exchanged uneasy glances, Riza deciding to take charge of the conversation once more.

"He's fine. You just got into a fight and need some patching up before we can let you go back home with your brother."

Edward gave a little oh of understanding and settled back for a while, eyelids sinking further down. Leaving Riza trying her best to keep him engaged, Roy shuffled to the side of the vehicle, leaning out to check on their progress by shouting at Havoc in the front seat.

"How much longer?"

"A little less than five minutes. How's the chief?"

"He's conscious, but he's not all there at the moment."

Havoc waved an acknowledgment and Roy withdrew to join Riza in keeping Edward awake for as long as long as they could.

His eyes were glassier by the second, his replies fewer in number, and when he did respond to them they couldn't make out what he was saying. They were losing him.

When the hospital finally came into view, Roy thought that this might be the one time he was actually happy to see the imposing building. Havoc halted the truck directly in front of the entrance and Roy was hopping from the back and running full tilt into the main hall before the engine shuddered to a stop. He ordered an emergency squad of the best doctors in their field to be put together and ready to operate or medicate or treat or whatever other medical-type things they did as soon as possible.

With the receptionists scurrying to obey the abrupt commands, he grabbed an abandoned cot and charged through the doors, thankful that Havoc had the foresight to be holding one of them as wide as he could without getting in the way. He was a bit surprised when he realized the other door was being held open by none other than Alphonse Elric- looking more like an upset puppy than any seven foot suit of armor had right to be. He pushed that thought out of his head and put his focus back on getting Fullmetal onto the flimsy cart.

Getting the teen out of the truck bed was much more difficult than putting him there had been. It took a great many awkward maneuvers and soothing gestures from Alphonse, but eventually they bundled him inside and watched as the team of medical professionals whisked him away. They were already spouting gibberish about dilation, hematomas, hypothermia, and other terms Roy didn't really understand in between grilling the younger boy about any allergies or previous conditions his brother had.

As quickly as that, Roy realized that he and his subordinates were no longer needed. He said as much to his lieutenants, but was unsurprised when they both requested to stay and keep an eye on the situation. He granted their request and let Fuery know the situation with a brief phone call. After informing him of the latest events and declaring that the entire team had the rest of the day off, he directed a nod of thanks to the nurse who had just reappeared with his overcoat, still warm from its time as a makeshift thermal blanket, and set off for home.

There was a full bottle of apple schnapps and a cold tile floor just waiting for him to collapse at home.

He didn't plan to disappoint.


	13. Bittersweet Reality.

It was happening. Everything was finally going to end, and they could all just go back to the way things used to be. No more reminders. No more babying. No more prying questions from overly-concerned adults. No more checking up on him over and over again until he just wanted to scream.

But now that the end was here, he wasn't sure if he was ready for it to be over. Not like this. The thought prompted him to rub the ring of scar tissue capping his port, brick red and still sensitive to touch, grounding him while his memories bled together- an event so common he hardly noticed it anymore.

A squad of soldiers armed with rifles wavered and became stern-faced generals lining the walls of a stately courtroom. The loud-mouth reading off a list of crimes shifted into a forbidding judge, glaring down the room as he read the final verdict. The burlap-clad woman forced to kneel on concrete- now that he thought about it, she was the same as always. Two scenes overlapping in his head- muddying up his thoughts so he almost believed the sudden silence broken by a smattering of explosive noise was just the judge declaring the trial over- until he saw the dark wetness spreading across her chest, watched as she crumbled to the ground screeching her undying love before cursing the world and all in it.

_She's dead._

The one thought clear in his mind; a single idea so much easier to grasp than the rest.

_She's dead. Because of me.  
_

It wasn't a panicked thought. Not a denial of any sort. He didn't even feel guilty.

_She's dead because of me. But I don't care._

It worried him. Just a little. A human being had just died in front of his very eyes. He'd seen the bullets

_-crimson spraying from his arm, spattering across white satin-roughened metal chafing exposed membranes-drying gore caked over his neck, his chin, here and there on his chest-_

tear through her body and hadn't done anything to stop it. Had watched without a single shred of emotion surfacing. What would Alphonse think if he knew?

_She's dead because of me, but I don't care. Why don't I care?_

He realized that he was still staring at the corpse. Or at least, where the corpse used to be. It had been moved at some point. He didn't remember seeing that. He blinked and the rest of the scene came into focus, the Colonel standing so close to him they were almost touching, Hawkeye watching him with what could almost be worry- maybe even _pity_ hidden in her eyes, the firing squad below reloading- waiting for their next job to be escorted in and chained to stained concrete.

He stood, grabbing the crutch he hated to admit was his, and limped away. Hawkeye passed him, probably to pull the car as close to the building as possible, though the Colonel kept pace, just _watching him_ with those piercing black eyes.

It was only after they were all safely inside the vehicle- a trial consisting of being boosted into his seat and buckled in by Mustang, a humiliating experience that he didn't dare complain about lest Hawkeye take up the duty herself- that the silence was broken by something other than echoing gunshots. And so the interrogation began again.

How was he feeling? What about his leg? Were his stitches still in place? Was his temporary limb bothering him? Did they need to adjust his sling? Had he taken his last dose of painkillers? He looked pale, should they pull over? He hadn't remembered anything new, had he? What about food? Would he rather grab a bite out or return to Winry and Alphonse at their new apartment?

The same questions they always asked him, answered with the same curt responses he always gave: fine, no, and _home_.

She gave up eventually, finally realizing that no matter how many times she rephrased her inquiries his answers weren't going to change. That didn't stop her from staring him down through the rear-view mirror. So he closed his eyes and propped his forehead against the window, ignoring the world as best as he could.

He appreciated the distraction, he really did, but he was so _tired_ of this. Everyone insisted on treating him like a piece of glass, afraid of doing the least little thing wrong. He was tired of the daily check-ups and interrogations. Of that _look_ all the lieutenants gave him whenever he walked into the office. The constant bandaging and cleaning of his more stubborn wounds. Winry's endless diagnostics. The innumerable therapeutic exercises. Of being force-fed milk and painkillers, threatened with needles and IV bags. Of his crutch- and even worse- his _wheelchair_. Of that persistent voice in the back of his mind that _knew_ everyone was hiding something from him, that they knew something he didn't know about himself and that they had no intention of telling him what that thing was.

But he supposed it didn't really matter. He was fine, after all. The entire ordeal was just another result of being Edward Elric, professional screw-up. Just another lost fight. Just another hospital visit. Just another memory of Winry in tears. Just another obstacle to overcome. Just one more normal, everyday, life-threatening incident- barely worthy of mention when compared to the rest of his life.

He knew that. Told himself as much over and over again. And whenever he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different this time, that his paranoia was entirely justified, he'd tell himself to stuff it where the sun don't shine and keep walking.

So what if that woman had carved her mark into his flesh. At least he had a body to mark. Who cared if it hurt every time he even thought of taking another step. He wasn't dead yet. Why did it matter that he couldn't remember much of anything about the two weeks surrounding the attack? He remembered Alphonse, Winry, and alchemy. What more could he possibly need?

_Nothing_.

He had his family. He had his life. He had promises to keep. He was fine. He would keep moving forward until he made it to his final destination. And when he was finally back home with Winry, when Alphonse could sleep and taste and feel again, after he'd been discharged from the military- _then_ he could think about his past. Think about it and laugh at it all because despite everything, though even 'God' was against them, they had survived.

He hoped that day- that dream- could come true more than anything else in this world. And soon. He was wearing down, making more mistakes every day. He just wanted it all to end. Locking away his memories, burying them in the darkest corners of his mind and throwing himself into the present, always pretending not to notice the way his memory bubbled and buckled- wearing away at every desperate barrier he erected- got a little bit harder every day. It would be nice to break the dam. To release all that pressure and just lay back and laugh again. Laugh and laugh until he cried.

The colonel's voice interrupted his musings, informing him that they had arrived. He opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the window, humming in acknowledgement. Soon enough, he was helped out of the car and up the short flight of stairs leading to his new dwelling. Alphonse met him at the door as always, Winry hovering in the background like a nervous hen.

She took charge of him as soon as he crossed the threshold, fussing and fretting while Al spoke to the colonel about something or other. He wasn't really listening. He was too busy attempting to fend off a pair of overzealous blondes bent on 'helping' him. Before he could do much more than protest, he was seated deep in the cushions of the couch, flanked by soldier and mechanic, while a small rolling table loaded with a variety of pills, a tall glass of milk, and stale toast was shoved in front of him.

"Edward Elric, you should be ashamed! Sneaking out this morning without eating any breakfast _or_ taking your pills! Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He grimaced and shifted uncomfortably, very much aware of the disapproving glare Hawkeye was aiming his way.

"I didn't sneak! And I took my antibiotics- I don't need the others. Besides, I wasn't hungry and milk is-"

Winry leaned forward, finger jabbing towards his face for emphasis.

"Don't give me that! I'm not stupid, Ed- and neither are the doctors! You're going to take every single pill here and _then_ you're going to eat your breakfast. And if there's even one _drop_ of milk left, I'll pour another glass and force it down your throat myself."

He cringed and resorted to his trump card: whining and being as annoying as humanly possible until he got his way.

"But _Winry_! The bastard is here! And I don't need them. Look, I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt! And it's almost lunchtime! I wanted stew. _Stew_. Al, tell Winry to make stew. I want stew!"

She huffed in disgust and swatted his hand away, Alphonse calling out a distracted affirmative before returning to his own conversation.

"Stop poking your bandages, Ed. You're such a _child_ sometimes. And I'm _not_ leaving this spot until _every pill_ is gone."

He blinked and stared at her, an ingratiating grin spreading across his face.

"Stew?"

She crossed her arms, an angry blush flushing her skin.

"You're such a brat! Fine, _if_ you take your medicine _and_ drink your milk, I'll make stew for lunch."

He gnawed at his lip, eying the items in question and preparing to bargain for all he was worth.

"I'll take everything but the opium and milk."

"Not happening. Your painkillers are non-negotiable."

"What if I take an extra anti-inflammatory and drink half the milk?"

"No. The doctor said no more than one anti-inflammatory pill every six hours."

He was getting desperate now. He really, _really_ hated taking the opium.

"Half of one pill and half the milk."

"No."

"Half and all of the milk?"

"Edward, I believe she told you it was non-negotiable. I agree. You need a full dose of medication for it to be most effective."

He wailed, flinging his hand around in a suitably dramatic manner, not caring that he was making a fool of himself. Again.

"But Hawkeye, I don't want it to be effective!"

"Oh, for the love of-! One pill and all your milk or both with no milk at all. Pick your poison, Ed."

He considered his options and began popping pills and chugging milk before Winry could change her mind. As much as he hated the taste and feel of that white slime, semi-consciousness was infinitely preferable to total oblivion.

"Done. You promised me stew."

"So I did. Miss Hawkeye, will you and Colonel Mustang be staying for lunch?"

"We wouldn't want to impose. We're planning to pick something up on the way back."

"No, no, no! It's no trouble at all! We'd love to have you."

"Thank you, Winry. If the colonel agrees, I suppose we _could_ stay."

At this point, the conversation was getting a bit... _fuzzy_ around the edges and the small hole at the base of his glove was proving to be much more interesting than he would have thought possible. Everything was slowing down, voices fading into a pleasant background drone, tightly woven cloth dancing against his eyelids. He hummed quietly to himself, absent smile stretching up, rose-tinted glass falling easily in place.

The sudden weight of a hand on his shoulder startled him and made him cringe until he registered the familiar face and the arm connected to it. He thought Mustang looked a little worried. What a strange look on that smooth face of his. It was funny. The surprised look on his face slid away, replaced by a wide grin, childish snigger bubbling past his teeth. A cool hand barely brushed his forehead, sending him into convulsions, twisting away from the unfamiliar touch, but drawing his hazy gaze to the older man's face.

"Ful- Edward."

If he concentrated hard enough he could string together the jumble of humming syllables into actual words. Speaking was just a little harder though. Almost too hard. But he supposed he'd better answer. They never liked it when he didn't.

"Wha'?"

He sounded strange, even to his own ears. His syllables were running all together just like Mustang's were. This discovery delighted him, a louder burst of mirth exploding from his throat.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

He drew the word out, stretching it with pleasure. It was a good word, fun to say. He particularly liked the hissing sound. The air whistling through his mouth tickled his tongue.

"Are you sure? I didn't mean to startle you."

It took him a bit longer to grasp the meaning, the curious change of tone and pitch distracting him momentarily. He grinned and hummed in agreement, enjoying himself far too much to let something like that affect his mood.

Now he watched his face crease in confusion. He'd never seen that porcelain skin crinkle in such a way. He wondered if his did the same, folding up and wrinkling when he smiled or squinted or tensed his muscles.

"Edward, does this bother you?"

Mustang lifted his hand and carefully patted his shoulder, watching his face closely, trying to gauge clumsy reactions.

"No. _This_. Tickles."

He caught hold of the older man's hand and brushed it against the skin of his cheek, callused skin and shocked expression igniting another bout of laughter. Mustang pulled his hand away, mouth firm but eyes soft.

"Edward, I realize that you aren't thinking very clearly at the moment, but please try to restrain yourself. Do you understand?"

His smile faded a bit, eyebrows pulling together as he strung the words together, struggling to separate phrases from somber bass tones. He nodded deliberately, forcing himself to think through the statement.

"Good. Now I need you to do something for me. I need you to think back. Do you remember anyone touching you like that before? Anyone at all."

He squinted and cocked his head to the side, humming and scratching his nose idly as he searched through sluggish memory.

"You...an' Mom...an' Granny, sometimes...an' Teacher when I got sick...an' I think...Hawkeye?"

"No one else?"

"No. Don' think so."

"Good, good."

Mustang was frowning again and Edward quickly grew tired of watching his immobile face. It occurred to him that he had never been quite this close to his superior officer. He was warm. He could feel the heat from here. It was distracting. Very distracting. But he liked it. He hadn't been this close to anyone since...since...he couldn't even remember when. Probably since he and Al were little.

That reminded him...

"Hey."

The colonel didn't so much as look at him.

"Hey."

He drew the word out even longer this time, playing with his volume as well as the syllables, pouting as he called. But he still wasn't answered.

He huffed in annoyance and threw himself against the older man clumsily, knocking them both to the floor and falling ungracefully into his lap, looking up at the much more interesting expression he now sported, a mix of exasperated anger and surprise. He liked it. Maybe he should knock the colonel down more often.

"Edward! What do you think you're doing! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Instead of answering, he threw his fist backwards, tapping on the broad chest above him.

"Hey. 'S Al?"

"What?"

He banged more insistently, scowling and increasing his volume.

"'S Al?"

"He's escorting the ladies to the market. Don't you remember?"

"Oh."

His brow furrowed, vaguely registering the uncomfortable shift as Mustang bent towards his face.

"Edward...does this happen often? Forgetting things and...losing track of what's around you?"

He froze, amber darting to meet ebony.

"Alphonse told me that he's worried about you. He said that you haven't been acting quite like yourself."

He licked his lips nervously.

"Not true."

"He also said that you refuse to talk to him-or anyone else- about it."

"Doesn' need t' know."

He muttered it under his breath, not realizing he'd said anything at all until his superior spoke with a voice that could cut glass.

"So it is true. And what else do you think that we don't _need to know_?"

"Nothin'!"

He nearly tripped over his tongue in the effort to get the word out, throwing himself forwards in an effort to put some distance between them, only to be foiled by his own weakness and Mustang's restraining hand against his torso.

"Edward."

Another warning. This time he sounded like he could bite nails in two.

"'S nothin'! Not 'portant! 'M fine, 'm fine!"

"If it's bothering you that much, it's obviously not 'nothing.' And I think I can judge for myself what is important and what is _not_. Out with it."

He struggled to pull his brain together, sensing that this was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Apparently, he was taking longer than that bastard thought he should.

"Edward, if you think-"

He cut in desperately, hand clutching at his head and eyes screwed close, trying to think through the fog in his mind, hoping to pull some magical, genius idea out of the scrambled mess that would fix everything. Or at least shut everyone up long enough to get his head on straight again.

"Wai', wai', wai', wai', wai'! I jus', I, I dunno, I...!"

The old man sighed.

"Alright, alright. Slow down, Edward. I'm just trying to help. Let's take a step back and calm down for awhile."

He opened his eyes, staring up in panic at the much larger male. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate, but he'd finally managed to get a vague idea of what exactly was bothering him so much and he wasn't about to lose _that_ again.

"Trade."

"What?"

"I tell you, you tell me, an' nob'dy tells Al!"

"Edward, I-"

"Don' tell 'im. Swear you won'."

"I don't know-"

"Swear."

"I can't just-"

"Swear."

"I'm not go-"

"Please."

Mustang stopped at that, a frown of frustrated indecision wrinkling his face once more. He grabbed a fistful of uniform, twisting it in his grasp, a desperate whisper gasping from his throat.

"Please. Jus' 'is once...swear."

The colonel shut his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"Just this once, Edward. Just this once."

He went limp, laughing quietly in sheer relief. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to compose himself, realizing with peculiar detachment that although his near panic attack had certainly cleared his mind, it had also hastened the arrival of the overwhelming desire- no, _need_ to sleep that always overcame him when he took his 'medicine.' He would have to be quick if he wanted answers.

"I can' remember. An' it hurts. An' I don' care. An' I don' know why. Bu' I think you do."

He could see his hesitation, could hear the barest note of strain in his voice, could even feel the tightening of muscle and skin through starched uniform.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Your medication should be taking care of any pain you have. As for the rest, I am certain that I informed you that we were never able to find out exactly what took place or why. And as you yourself have made it _very_ clear that you remember little to nothing about the entire fiasco, I'm afraid that is simply that."

Copper bore into charcoal, hushed voice and dispassionate expression not revealing the growing struggle to keep eyelids from drooping.

"Liar. Tell me."

"Things aren't that simple, Edward. There are things that I can't- and won't- tell you. Things that you _shouldn't have to know_. You'll simply have to trust me."

"Somethin' happened t' me, Bas'ard. I wan'- I need t' know wha'. T' know _why_."

A heart-felt sigh, a reluctant pause, and the colonel finally spoke.

"Edward...I can't tell you everything. I can only hope you'll be satisfied with what you hear now. This...fight you had with the late Ms Arabela is much bigger than the two of you. Suffice it to say that affairs during The War led Ms Arabela to believe that the military was responsible for the disappearance of someone very dear to her. A series of unfortunate events led her to you and- for some inexplicable reason- decided to make you pay for her past. Anything beyond that is classified."

His eyelids were growing unbearably heavy, his mind swimming, no- _sinking_.

"'S my _life_ , Bas'ard. Need t' know wha' she did'a me...why I di'n' care...when she..."

He growled in frustration and bit down on the inside of his cheek until he could feel a dull ache and slow gush of blood. Sleep was _not_ an option.

"You...Has it really affected you so much? So much that you can't even accept the word of your commanding officer and just _move on_?"

He only tightened his mouth, clamping lips shut, grinding teeth against the skin of his cheek, staring the colonel down.

_This much. It means this much. I'll even bleed for it._ _And_ _Al will never have to know._

And again it seemed he'd won the contest of wills, the darker man slumping forward, laughing quietly and muttering about idiots. He sobered and returned Edward stare for stare, tapping a single finger against the younger male's forehead for emphasis.

"It's simple. You underestimated her and she took you. And since you didn't have the sense to bring your brother along, we almost didn't know what happened. I'd say anything going on with you right now is only to be expected, so forget about it and take your medicine like a good boy. You caused a lot of trouble for us and got yourself in so deep you almost couldn't get out again."

'...she took you.'

Ah- he was right. It was different. Not just a fight. He knew now. Taken. It wouldn't happen again. He'd be prepared. They wouldn't...be separated again. It was alright now...he could...sleep.

A self-satisfied smirk, gurgled laugh at Mustang's expense...and he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've actually managed to read this story all the way through, kudos to you! I'd love to hear what you think of it, and if you liked what you read- stay tuned! I'll be posting some of my other works here as well.


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